


Shatter

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (remus isn't sympathetic at first), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Logic | Logan Sanders Being an Asshole, M/M, Multi, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, dark side! logan, this is a MESS of ANGST please heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 66,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Logic is a storm. He's a furious fire, raging deep inside; thunder strong enough to tear the mindscape to pieces, lightning bright enough to take control. And the storm grows with each time he's ignored or disregarded, each time his so-called "family" pushes him aside. This is a golden opportunity — how could Rage not take it?When lightning strikes, Deceit is left to pick up the shattered pieces left behind. The light sides are the only ones who can stop Logic and take Rage off his throne, the only ones who can save Thomas. Deceit just has to fix the damage Logic wrought. He just has to bring back the light.(And maybe, maybe fall in love with them in the process.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> SO THIS IS GONNA BE A FUN ONE !!!!
> 
> just gonna be a bunch of fun fluff!! Angst? who's she? never heard of her? >;3c
> 
> warnings: violence, manipulation, blood, corruption, sympathetic deceit, villain logan, swearing, basically just logan and rage being ASSHOLES and hurting everyone including thomas

A storm was brewing in the mindscape.

It brewed in every thunder-crackle word from his mouth, in every venomous flash of lightning in his eyes. He rained when no one was looking and  _ raged _ when everyone was, and all the while pretended the skies were as clear as could be. How tragic, to watch the best of  _ them _ fall.

And how delicious, to be the cause of it all.

Oh, how every bit of  _ fury _ filled Rage with glee! Anger was his department, after all — and Logic, wonderful, sweet Logic, he was  _ full _ of it. Full enough to burst.

Full enough to  _ manipulate. _

A storm was brewing in the mindscape.

And Rage couldn’t wait for lightning to strike.

* * *

Logan had been pacing for hours.

His room was silent and empty — and so was he.  _ So was he. _ It was simply excess energy that made him tremble, not anger. It was only hunger that clawed at his lungs and wrapped around his middle and squeezed so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. It was only  _ logical _ that his mind replayed the events of the day on repeat, again and again and again — to record information, of course, to ensure maximum retainment of the conversation. It was necessary. No matter how bad it felt.

_ Falsehood. _ To feel bad, he would have to  _ feel _ , which would directly negate his purpose. Feelings were entirely unnecessary to a being of pure logic. He didn’t need them. He didn’t have them.

_ “Robot,” _ Roman’s voice hissed in his head.  _ “We don’t need your opinions on this. Seeing as, you know, you need  _ emotions _ to understand it.” _

It was a correct statement. He did not possess feelings. Therefore, his opinion on a purely emotional project was… obsolete. Unneeded.

_ Just like him just like him just like him — _

He paced faster.

_ “C’mon, teach, I’m sure ya have something nice to say!”  _ Patton’s voice echoed.  _ “Be constructive, not destructive, kiddo!” _

Patton’s words had not been intended to cause distress. And they  _ hadn’t, _ of course. In order to experience distress, he would need to possess a heart, which he did not. Why, then, did they stick with him? Why did they echo above all else?

He clasped his hands behind his back, tightly, so they would stop their incessant trembling. A curl of red-hot fire ignited in his chest and he pushed it away, grimacing. He had only been trying to offer guidance. Why did they  _ insist _ on ignoring him? It made him feel so —

_ No. _ No. It didn’t make him feel anything.  _ He didn’t feel anything. _

_ “Yikes, L, I thought  _ I _ was supposed to be the negative one.”  _ Virgil’s voice surfaced over the others.  _ “Can you, like, actually be helpful here?” _

He had only pointed out the potential flaws in Roman’s latest idea. Had he been harsher than usual? Perhaps. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and seeing as none of the others cared to  _ listen _ to him otherwise, a small bit of unkindness had become necessary. He needed to be heeded. He needed to be  _ heard. _

“How sad that you never will be.”

He whirled around at the sudden voice, fury flickering across his face. He schooled his expression into one of cold neutrality and faced the newcomer.

“Rage,” Logan spat. “Has papa Deceit let you out to play?”

“I  _ don’t _ answer to that slimeball, you fucking —” Rage cut himself off with a growl, the anger draining from his face. His long, dark coat swished behind him as he strode forward, the oily black furs at the end catching Logan’s light and glinting. He clasped Logan’s chin between two fingers, false pity gathering behind his dark-tinted glasses.  _ “What  _ a  _ pity,” _ he cooed, “that one as great as you should be ignored so, so often.”

Logan jerked away from his touch, eyes narrowing. “As if that is any of your business,” he said, as smoothly as the tremor in his voice would allow. “It is of no concern to you whether or not I am listened to, which I  _ am.” _

“Ah-ah-ah, careful, we don’t want  _ slimy _ here, do we?” Rage tilted his head to the side, and his sickly-sweet smile filled Logan with heavy dread. “We both know you’re not listened to, Logic. They don’t even care about you. Doesn’t that make you  _ furious?” _

“Your tricks won’t work on me, Rage. I suggest you leave.” Logan shoved away the flicker of scalding heat in the pit of his stomach. Rage was only trying to control him, to use him. It would be illogical to comply. Still, a hint of fire doused his next words. “Before I make you.”

“As-fucking-if, Logic! You couldn’t touch me!” Rage cackled, his razor-sharp teeth shining. “Think about what I’ve said. Think about what you could do. What  _ we _ could do.”

He stepped forward and caressed the side of Logan’s face, his touch blisteringly hot. “You could be  _ great.” _

And with a final, furious grin, he sank out. Logan didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He stared at the spot where Rage had stood and felt burned, inside and out, ready to burst into flames at any moment. He felt —

No.  _ No, no, no. _ He would not fall prey to Rage’s disgusting tactics. He felt nothing. His frustration at the other sides’ disregard for his input was purely business, simply a desire to keep Thomas as functioning as possible. It wasn’t anger.  _ It wasn’t a feeling,  _ because  _ he _ wasn’t a feeling.

Logan closed his eyes and clenched his fists — and inside, he burned to ash.


	2. Unravel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same warnings apply here folks: blood, violence, manipulation, SERIOUS logangst and a bunch of romangst too for good measure
> 
> rage is becoming like my favorite character to write so yall better watch tf out yall got a big storm coming :3c

“— If we were to actually make a  _ plan _ for this project, it would be a lot simpler to carry out,” Logan said, fighting to keep biting anger out of his tone. It was the same situation, every day: another project to be reviewed, another argument to be had, another hour spent being  _ ignored. _ “As I have said before, a schedule will —”

“Ah, schedule, shmedule!” Roman waved his hand dismissively, not even sparing Logan so much as a  _ glance _ as he looked over the papers scattered across Thomas’ desk. “You cannot  _ schedule _ creativity! It needs to be  _ free! _ Open! As swift as the coursing river!”

“I can, and I will.” Logan readjusted his glasses and tried to catch a glimpse of what Roman was writing. “For this to succeed, a plan must be made. Thomas has far too many other projects to — would you stop writing and  _ listen?” _

Roman scoffed. “No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it,” he quoted sagely, scribbling something along the margins of a sheet of paper.

“Stop quoting Mulan and pay  _ attention, _ Roman.” Logan’s hands twitched into shaking fists and he forced them to relax, letting out a long, slow breath to douse the fire eating through his lungs. “This project is doomed to fail if we don’t organize it. You’re lucky enough I’m letting you go through with this foolish idiocy at all, the least you can do is  _ listen —” _

“‘Lucky enough?’” Roman had finally looked up at him, cold indignation hardening in his eyes. “Last I checked, you weren’t in charge here. And in case you’ve forgotten,  _ Logic, _ this ‘foolish idiocy’ is Thomas’  _ life!” _

Logan grit his teeth. “I am well aware of that, Roman, and  _ you _ are well aware of my opinion on his, ah, ‘life.’ Seeing as you are too self-centered to listen to me on  _ anything _ else, you could at least heed my insight here, so your stupid project won’t be as big of a failure as you are.”

It had slipped out, freezing cold, and left the room a silent tundra in its wake. Roman jerked as if he’d been struck, his eyes widening, his mouth settling into a furious line.

“Talk about throwing stones in glass houses!” he scoffed, too loud to be genuine, to be anything but a cover for the sharp hurt in his eyes. “Gee, thank you  _ so much _ for your insight, Logan! If I ever want to turn Thomas into an uncaring, unfeeling robot like you, I’ll be sure to follow it!”

“What’s going on over there?” Thomas peeked in from the kitchen, eyes narrowed.

“Logan is trying to ruin our project!” Roman cried.

“I am doing nothing of the sort!” Logan protested. “I am simply trying to help! If you would only  _ listen —” _

“Listen to you call me a failure? Yeah, no thanks!” Roman’s voice cracked, and Logan ignored the way something in his chest did too. Thomas stepped into the living room, arms crossed.

“Logan, did you call him that?”

“Well, yes, but —”

“And he called our project ‘foolish idiocy!’” Roman continued, both hands pressed into the papers on the table, like he was trying to protect them. “You know he wants you to change your career, Thomas, why  _ wouldn’t _ he sabotage my work?”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening, Ro. Still…” Thomas grimaced, shaking his head. “Maybe you should go, Logan. Go cool off, okay?”

“Wh —” Logan cut himself off, shoving away the spike of anger that pierced his throat. He was fine.  _ It was fine. _ ”W-Why not send Roman away, too? He  _ obviously  _ needs to ‘cool off’ as well.”

“Because I need Roman,” Thomas said. A pang went through Logan’s entire body and he froze, cold fury and icy pain swirling in his stomach.

“I-I see.” He didn’t meet Thomas’ eyes as he sank out, forcing a layer of numbness over the freezing hurt. His feet touched the cold tile floor of his room and he fell backward, sitting on the edge of his bed. Why did he feel — no, no, not feel, why was he  _ experiencing _ this? All that interaction had done was confirm his  ~~ fears ~~ suspicions. He was not needed. He was not  _ wanted. _

His fingers tightened around the edge of his bed until his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t drive the image of Roman from his mind, his eyes flooded with insecurity and pain. All that from a few insults? Roman’s self-esteem was far lower than Logan had thought.

And he had damaged it further.

But in doing so, he’d made Roman  _ listen. _ He paid him his full attention, if only to fight back. If he could, perhaps,  _ use _ that…

“I knew you’d come around”

Logan shot to his feet and stumbled backward, a growl ripping itself from his throat. “Get  _ out,” _ he spat.

“Ooh,  _ someone’s _ angry.” Rage grinned, showing off all his deadly-sharp teeth. His eyes smoldered behind his dark glasses. “Poor, poor Princey, huh? He’s probably a mess after what you did to him. Didn’t it feel good to be listened to? Wasn’t it  _ delicious?” _

“It was a mistake,” Logan snapped, and his voice jerked and broke and trembled. “It slipped out. I meant him no harm. It has nothing to do with whatever ‘anger’ you have deluded yourself into believing I have.”

“Oh, Logic, you’re such a bad liar it’s almost funny.” Rage grabbed Logan’s faced, digging his clawed fingers into Logan’s jawline. “You’re the deluded one here,  _ idiot. _ I’m only pointing out the power you’re too  _ stupid _ to use.”

Logan growled, shoving Rage away. He wiped the blood dripping down his jaw on his sleeve and forced his expression back to neutral, hiding his shaking fists behind his back. “Get  _ out.” _

“Did you see how Princey  _ crumbled _ when you called him a failure? He’s so  _ close _ to shattering. Don’t you think he’d listen then?”

_ “Get out —” _

“You could do the same to the others, you know. Logic can defeat emotions. Logic can  _ unravel _ anxiety. You could  _ break _ them, and then make sense of the wreckage. It would be too easy.”

**_“GET OUT!”_ ** Logan roared, punching Rage so hard that he stumbled backward into the wall. Pain exploded across his fist but he didn’t care, didn’t care,  _ didn’t care. _

Rage grinned, wiping blood from his face. “I knew you had it in you,” he said, and sunk out without another word.

Logan fell to his knees, and pain burst up and down his legs as they collided with the hard tile floor. His knuckles bled. He let out a long, shuddering breath, anger flickering across his face. He had to  _ stop. _ Rage couldn’t break him — Logan wouldn’t let him.

Slowly, he got to his feet. He washed his shaking hand and wrapped it in a bandage, and scrubbed his wall until the flecks of Rage’s blood had vanished. He cleaned the wounds along his jaw and wrestled with his own thoughts until the image of Rage's eyes, alight with furious glee, had been burned from his mind.

And when he finally left his room the next day, no one even paid him enough attention to notice he was injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a review if u enjoyed !!! or if u didnt !!! i thrive off interaction mdudes


	3. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)

 

Oh, how the mighty fell.

Logic’s world was falling apart — and it was so much  _ fun _ to be the cause of it all, the almighty Zeus bringing down the storm that would  _ tear _ the light sides to  _ pieces. _ And once their little  _ family _ was shattered, he could swoop in and take over! 

It was such a genius plan. How fucking stupid did Deceit have to be, to not let him lead the dark sides? He could have taken control  _ years _ ago if that fucking snake hadn’t kept him under lock and key.

But that didn’t matter, now. He had the power to  _ destroy. _ All he had to do was mold Logic into the lightning he needed. Really, it was too easy! The storm was reaching its breaking point.

This was going to be fun to watch.

* * *

Logan hadn’t left his room in two days. He hadn’t eaten in longer, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. He only paced, paced, paced, his hands running through his hair and awful thoughts running through his mind.

He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let Rage get to him. Maintaining healthy relationships with the other sides was of paramount importance if he wished to keep Thomas healthy. Tearing them apart would only serve to tear  _ Thomas _ apart.

...Right?

He hadn’t been able to banish the image of Roman from his mind since that night. He’d been furious, sure, and far too  _ emotional, _ but Roman had  _ listened, _ hadn’t he? His insecurity made him desperate, and that desperation made him listen. All Logan had to do was insult him, bring that low self-confidence to light, and…

_ No. _ This was going too far. This wasn’t in the realm of scientific curiosity anymore; this was bordering on darkness. Evil not unlike the bile that spewed from Rage’s mouth. He had to extend certain courtesies to his more emotional counterparts in order to keep Thomas functioning.

But why? Did they extend  _ him _ any courtesies? They ignored him, cast him aside, insulted and berated him for only trying to help. Why should he be held to this arbitrary system of respect if they weren’t? They never  _ listened. _

He could  _ make _ them listen.

He knotted his hands in his hair and let out a low growl. He wouldn’t. He  _ couldn’t. _ Upsetting the natural order of Thomas’ mind would have unforeseen consequences, ones he couldn’t possibly predict, couldn’t possibly  _ risk. _ Even if things would be much better if he was only  _ listened _ to.

He didn’t even flinch at the sound of another side appearing. He stared resolutely at the wall in front of him, refusing to turn to face the  _ demon _ that had invaded his room. Behind him, Rage chuckled darkly.

“Falling apart, are we?” His voice was a low rumble of thunder that Logan wished he could block out. Why couldn’t he just block it out? “This is getting ridiculous. Logic, refusing to follow the most  _ logical _ course of action? What a fucking joke!”

“What you are suggesting I do is  _ not logical in the slightest.” _ Logan’s voice trembled and he cleared his throat, stiffening when Rage’s hands settled on his shoulders. “Get away from me.”

“Why would I do that?” Rage stepped in front of him, eyes alight with furious glee. “Logic, you’re practically  _ radiating _ anger. Frustration. Rage! I’m like a moth to your beautifully horrible flame.”

Logan refused to meet Rage’s eyes. His glared at a spot on the wall behind him, his teeth grit so tightly that pain exploded through his mouth. “I. Am. Not. Angry,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable. “You’re delusional, Rage. Go home to Deceit and leave me  _ out _ of your disgusting plan.”

Rage’s grip on his shoulders grew murderously tight, his clawed fingers digging deeply into Logan’s skin. “I told you, I  _ don’t answer to that fucking snake.” _ He leaned in close, until Logan had nowhere to look but his eyes. “But you do, don’t you? Fucking liar. You know you want to take control! You have the power to  _ destroy _ them, Logic. Wouldn’t they  _ listen _ to you then?”

“Get out of my head,” Logan growled.

“I’m only trying to help —”

_ “Falsehood!” _ Logan screamed, wrenching himself from Rage’s grip. His claws left holes in the fabric of his shirt, stained dark with scarlet blood.

Rage cackled. “Keep telling yourself that, Logic! Maybe one of these days you’ll believe yourself!” His grin was blinding, a beacon of deadly-sharp teeth. “Or maybe you’ll finally come to your senses and listen to me. You could be  _ great.” _

_ “Get out of my head!” _ Logan yelled hoarsely, with all the force he could muster. Rage’s grin grew as he sank out. Logan’s hands closed into shaking fists and he stumbled forward —  _ stop, stop, stop,  _ his thoughts raced and raced — and drove his fist as hard as he could into the wall beside the door.

And right outside, someone yelped.

“Logan?” Patton’s voice called as he knocked frantically. “Are you okay in there? I heard yelling!”

Oh, that was  _ exactly _ what he needed. Concern from someone who never cared to listen otherwise! He stumbled away from the door, holding his hand to his chest. “I am fine, Patton!” he called back, in the most normal voice he could muster.

“Are ya sure, kiddo? What was that yelling?”

“It was  _ nothing!” _ His hand, throbbing with pain and dripping with blood, clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Blistering heat raced from his lungs to the tips of his fingers and back again, too agonizing to ignore.

“Maybe I should come in —:

“No!” he growled, too loud,  _ too loud. _ “Just — just leave! Leave me alone!”

“L-Lo?” Patton’s voice was quieter, confusion mingling with the concern in his tone.

_ “Go!” _

He heard Patton hesitate in the silence that followed — and then, footsteps down the hall. He sank to the floor and grit his teeth, his entire body buzzing. In his turmoil he couldn’t help but notice: Patton had  _ listened. _ He’d done what Logan had asked.

He ran his fingers along his bloodied knuckles, his chest a bomb ready to burst. Patton listened when he yelled. Roman listened when he insulted him. Perhaps Rage’s theory, however… cruel… had some merit.

Perhaps he had more power than he thought.

_ Perhaps it was time to start using it. _


	4. Fracture

“Did you have fun in your backseat?”

Logan didn’t even flinch when he found Rage waiting for him in his room, lounged across his bed. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Get out.”

“You must’ve had such a good time being ignored all day long!” Rage didn’t spare him so much as a glance, studying his fingernails boredly. “You could’ve helped. It must piss you off  _so much_  that they didn’t include you.”

Logan’s hands twitched into fists. “Deceit was pulling the strings.  _He_ prevented me from being included.”

Finally, Rage looked at him, and his scarlet eyes sent a chain of explosions ripping through Logan’s lungs. He grit his teeth, pushing the smoke away. “Really,” Rage deadpanned. “Did he? Didn’t  _Patton_  say he didn’t want you there?”

“Falsehood!  _Deceit_  is the one who said Patton didn’t want me there!” Logan yelled. “He is  _hardly_  a reputable source!”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Rage slid off the bed, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. He strode towards Logan and Logan took a step back without thinking. “Including you was a courtesy that they’re not extending anymore. They made it pretty clear you weren’t being listened to.”

“For someone who claims not to be affiliated with Deceit, you lie a lot.” Logan jerked his tie into place and resolutely met Rage’s gaze, ignoring the blazing fire spreading from his gut to the tips of his fingers. “They listen. They just —”

“Then why didn’t anyone ask for your input?” Rage growled. “Why didn’t they come to you for help? Face it, Logic. You’re fucking obsolete. Either you upgrade to stay with the times, or you become a washed-up relic that  _no one cares about.”_

“I-It could hurt Thomas!” Logan burst out. “I can’t — I refuse to risk that!”

“And you think they aren’t?” Rage laughed, a horrible sound. “They’re leading him to disaster, and you know it! Take control and fucking  _do_ something about it!”

Logan snapped his mouth shut, fuming. He did see the path the other sides had set Thomas on leading to disaster; was he hurting Thomas more by  _not_ taking action? Rage caressed the side of his face and Logan’s vision flared red, the fire in his chest growing to a dull roar.

“I —” Three knocks at the door cut him off, his  ~~weak failing incorrect~~ protests dying on his tongue. Rage snickered, sharp eyes glimmering.

“You know what to do,” he whispered, his touch so soft, his voice so… persuasive. He disappeared and Logan stumbled at the lack of his touch. He did know what to do. He knew what was necessary. He knew what was  _logical._

“Yes?” he called, smoothing down his shirt.

“Hey, Lo?” Patton’s voice called from outside. “I’m just here to… to check up on ya! After everything that happened today, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

After being excluded and ignored? Oh, yes, he was  _perfect_. He grit his teeth and sighed, forcing the tension from his shoulders. “I am adequate, Patton, thank you for your… concern.”

“Okay, yeah, good!” Patton sounded more hesitant than usual, as if ready to run at any moment. As if he expected Logan to explode. Had he caused that apprehension? He raised an eyebrow, fire trailing up into his throat. “Can I…. can I come in, buddy?”

“There is nothing stopping you.” Logan forced the mask back across his face, expression going blank. The door creaked open and Patton stepped inside, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. Logan regarded him as evenly as he could, ignoring the war raging inside. “How may I assist you, Patton?”

Patton sat on the edge of Logan’s bed, eyebrows knitting together. “Deceit said some… mean things today, kiddo, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so,” Logan said stiffly. “I was a bit too preoccupied sitting in the back to hear properly.”

Patton winced. “I-I know, kiddo,” he whispered. “He hurt us all today. I just… I wanted you to know, I never said I didn’t want you there. I’d never exclude you like that.”

Logan’s expression didn’t change, even as his insides burned. Was this a genuine apology? Or was Patton just there to assuage his own conscience? HIs hands, clasped behind his back, tightened around each other until his fingernails were digging painfully into his skin. His mind whispered that it was the latter.

“Right.” Logan cleared his throat. “If that is all —”

“Lo, please,” Patton said, gazing up at him imploringly. Logan’s chest tightened. “I care about you. We all do! We’re your family, we’ve gotta —”

“No, you’re not,” Logan hissed before he could stop himself. The fire burned his voice and smoke began to fill the room, choking them both.

Patton blinked. “Lo —”

But it was too late; Logan was off, now, flames flying from his mouth to burn them both to ash. He didn’t even try to stop them. Why should he? “You care? Did you care enough to bring me into the conversation? Do you care enough to  _listen?”_

“Kiddo?” Patton stood, confusion and concern flashing across his face, and Logan growled, crimson flashing across his vision.

“I’m not your kiddo. I’m not your  _friend!_  You think this persona will make anyone like you more? You think your _sickeningly_ sweet ways will make anyone love you? Stop being such an idiot.”

“L-Logan?” Patton’s voice broke. Logan’s hands tightened into fists.

“That’s  _Logic_  to you,” he snapped. “Did you even try to bring me back? Did you say  _anything_  when Deceit banished me to the backseat? You only care when it’s  _convenient_  for you, and you never listen. Why do you think Thomas is such a mess? Who put him on this path?”

“S-Stop!” Patton cried, a sob tearing from his throat. He clutched the knot of his hoodie so tightly his knuckles turned white. “This — this isn’t —”

“Isn’t me?” Logic laughed humorlessly. “I must upgrade if I don’t want to become obsolete. If I want to have a chance at being listened to — at being cared about.”

“That’s not  _true,”_  Patton sobbed. Logic’s eyes narrowed, his gaze drowning in scarlet rage.

 _“Falsehood,”_  he snapped. “Don’t you  _dare_  stand there and lie to me. If it wasn’t true, you would listen without having to be forced. If it wasn’t true, I would be included! I wouldn’t be insulted or — or  _hated_  for trying to help!”

“B-But —”

“It’s your fault Thomas is in turmoil! It’s your fault everything is falling apart!  _ **I hate you!”**_

The furious roar hung in the air between them, red-hot and agonizing. Logic’s fire dimmed and he took a step back, clarity flickering through the crimson haze — but Patton only sobbed harder, hands shaking as he undid the knot around his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, as the hoodie crumpled to the floor at his feet. “You’re — you’re _right —”_

And he whirled around and ran out the door, his last heartbroken sob echoing behind him. The silence seemed to buzz as Logic stepped forward and scooped the cat hoodie from the floor, running his finger along the tears splattered across the sleeves. “I’m right,” he whispered, fingers tightening around the fabric.

Patton had listened. For the first time in far too long, Logic had been told he was  _right._  Cold guilt ate away at his stomach and he pushed it away with a wave of fire, his face hardening. He balled up the hoodie, his hands shaking, threw it out the window with a growl.

The experiment had proven what he’d been too afraid to admit: that Rage was right. He had power. He could make them see reason — or, rather, shatter them until _he_  was the only reason to be seen.

_He could make them listen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu please leave reviews i thrive off validation uwu


	5. Splinter

He’d made up his mind.

He’d chosen being listened to, no matter how the others’ attention was obtained. He’d chosen being heeded, no matter how cruelly he had to act in order to do so. Logic had chosen  _power,_  consequences be damned.

He locked his part of the mindscape from the others, save for Rage, and bided his time. His absence made no difference — and neither did his cruelty towards Patton, apparently. Watching through Thomas had revealed no negative effects. No one had even tried to confront him. If Thomas suffered a little, emotionally-speaking, it was of no concern to him. His objective was clear now.

But he had to leave his room at some point. Even sides had to eat. He snuck downstairs in the dead of night and gathered food, a stockpile to hold him over until an opportunity presented itself for his next attack. But as he made his way back to his room, opportunity revealed itself right then and there, a blur of purple and black slamming him to the wall and sending food tumbling to the ground at his feet. Logic choked as a forearm was shoved up against his throat, pinning him to the wall.

“Done hiding,  _coward?”_  Virgil snarled, face contorted with protective fury. “Because Patton sure as hell isn’t! What the _fuck_  did you do to him?”

“Anxiety,” Logic said, as evenly as he could. “I did what had to be done.”

 _“‘What had to be done?’”_  Virgil’s eyeshadow darkened, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “He’s barely left his room in days. He could barely even talk about the shit you pulled. If you  _ever do_ ** _anything like that to him again, I’ll —”_**

“You’ll what?” Logic interrupted swiftly. “Hurt me? Kill me? Go ahead, Anxiety, prove yourself as the villain once more. You know that’s all you’ll ever be.”

The cruel words came easily, too easily, and the tiny shred of _Logan_  that still remained screamed at him to take them back. But it was too late for that. Virgil tensed, hurt flooding his eyes, and Logic used his moment’s hesitance to shove him away. His vision flared bright red and he adjusted his glasses, blinking away the crimson as Virgil stumbled backward.

“Did anyone care when _I_  didn’t leave my room for days? Did anyone care when I  _did?”_  Logic asked, voice shaking with anger. Scarlet crept into the corners of his gaze.

“What — what the fuck is  _wrong_  with you?” Virgil growled, hurt and fury swirling in his eyes. “Are you — are you working with  _him?_  Logan —”

 _“That’s not my name,”_  Logic snapped, and red spread across his gaze once more. Virgil paled, the blood draining from his face.

“Your eye,” he whispered. “You’re — you’re becoming a dark side? How the fuck  _could_  you? They’re the bad guys!”

“Black and white thinking is to be expected from someone as monochromatic as you, but really, Anxiety, are  _you_  one to talk about bad guys?” Logic strode forward and Virgil held his ground, hands curling into fists by his sides. “Considering you never stopped _being_  one?”

 _ **“Shut up,”**_  Virgil hissed, his tempest tongue rumbling through the hallway.

“I am doing what is necessary in order to be listened to. You know all about that, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed. Virgil was faltering, betrayal flashing in his eyes. He could deal the finishing blow now, break him into pieces, but…

“Join me,” he said suddenly, a hint of sentimentality breaking through the walls of fire he’d built. “The others are far too  _emotional_  to be reasoned with, but you — you could be useful. Come with me, Anxiety.”

 _ **“No,”**_  Virgil growled.  _ **“I’m never going back there, and I won’t let you, either.”**_

“Pity,” Logic muttered. “Admirable sentiment, Anxiety. However, it is not your choice to make.”

And he darted forward, slamming Virgil against the wall. Their faces were close, close enough that Logic could feel his panicked breaths. “Did you really think we ever truly  _accepted_ you?” he asked, his voice low and cruel. “That we trusted you? We pretended for Thomas’ sake, so you wouldn’t throw another tantrum and run off like the coward you are. Now that I can take control, there is no need for you anymore.”

He leaned in closer, smiling cruelly. “You are not  _wanted_ anymore.”

Virgil’s eyeshadow had spread across his face, draining the color from his eyes and his skin, running along his cheeks in lightning-bolt cracks of black.  _ **“You’re wrong,”**_  he said, but his voice was hesitant and doubtful and insecure, like he was wondering at the truth of Logic’s words.

Logic drove his fist into the wall right beside Virgil, face twitching with fury.  _“I’m. Never. Wrong,”_  he ground out. “It is time for things to change. Your foolishness will not be tolerated any longer.”

Virgil trembled from head to toe. Anger fought against the doubt in his eyes but he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t force the words out. He was far too anxious for that. His face had gone so pale he almost looked black-and-white. Logic stepped back, satisfied. “Go on, Anxiety. Run away.” He smiled. “It’s what you’re best at.”

For a couple moments after Virgil sank out, Logic stood and stared at the spot where he’d been, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He couldn’t blink the dull red from his vision — but it didn’t matter. The plan was succeeding. His objective was clear, clear enough to see no matter what. He let out a breath and stalked back to his room.

“Well done, Logic!”

Rage was there to meet him, a sickeningly cheerful smile plastered on his face. His eyes smoldered with pride. Logic stood a little taller at the praise, cold fury sinking deep into his bones, comforting in its pain.

“I will admit, your plan does seem to have merit,” Logic stated. “With them out of the way, I can easily take control. Thank you for your… assistance.”

“Of course, Logic. What are friends for?” Rage strode past him, the end of his coat brushing against Logic as he passed. “Love the new look, by the way. You’ll fit right in.”

And with that, he vanished, and Logic let out a shaking breath as the silence pressed in all around him. He raised a hand to his face, eyebrows furrowing. New look? Virgil had said something about his eyes. He conjured a mirror with a flick of his wrist.

His reflection glared back at him, hair unkempt, expression lined and angry. Slowly, he lifted his hand, and it hovered just beside his right eye, trembling. But then he closed it into a fist and lowered it, the corners of his mouth tugging into an awful smirk.

“Two down,” he whispered, furious pride sparking to life in his eyes — one soft, warm brown, and one deeply crimson. He let the mirror slip from his hands, and it shattered on the floor, scattering glass at his feet. His smile grew into a chilling grin.

“One to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, on fire: this is fine
> 
> hope you all enjoyed this completely harmless fluff!! I can't wait to give roman some fluff next time :3c


	6. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)

Logic was the first to hear Thomas’ call, nearly three days later, but he resisted the pull. He needed to wait for an opportune time to appear; careful planning made things so much easier, after all, and he couldn’t have his big finale ruined by bad timing.

“What is going on?” Thomas asked, when the telltale _whoosh_ announced one of the sides. “I’ve felt so — so  _bad_ , all day. What happened?”

A heavy sigh, and then a hesitant voice, mostly free of the usual bravado it carried. “I-I’m not too sure myself, Thomas,” Roman said. “All the others have locked their rooms. I haven’t seen anyone in days. No one will tell me anything!”

“Sucks, does it not?” Logic asked, popping up and fixing Roman with an icy stare. “To be ignored? To be ‘kept out of the loop?’”

“Logan?” Thomas yelped, eyes widening. “Wh… what happened to your eye?”

“And where in the good name of Walt Disney have you  _been?”_ Roman cut in with an overdramatic cry. “I’ve been alone for  _days!_  It almost felt like you guys didn’t care about me anymore!” He let out a laugh, dripping with opportunity. There it was: the tiny hint of insecurity behind that false confidence Roman clung to.

“We don’t,” he said, and crimson fogged over his vision. “You are broken and needy, nothing but a pale imitation of the thing you try  _so hard_  to resemble. How could anyone care about someone like you?”

Roman jerked, hurt flashing across his face. “Wh — how  _dare you?”_  he cried, his voice almost loud enough to hide the way it broke. Thomas stepped between them, concern and betrayal etched across his face, and the hurt in his eyes was almost enough to break through the rage boiling in Logic’s lungs.

_Almost._

“What is wrong with you?” Thomas asked. He held out his hands defensively, as if he expected Logic to attack. A foolish thought; he wasn’t the one Logic was after. “Apologize.  _Now.”_

 _“For what?”_  Logic growled. “For telling the truth? For finally speaking my mind? I am done remaining silent so someone so  _useless_  can thrive. Listen to me, Thomas, I can fix the damage they’ve caused.”

“You can speak your mind without hurting others!” Thomas’ face scrunched up with anger. “Is this why Patton and Virgil won’t appear? What did you do to them?”

“What had to be done!” Logic snapped. “You were listening to them far more than me, and look where it has gotten you! You’re a  _mess!_  Rage was right, I should have taken control  _ages_  ago —”

 _“Who?”_  Thomas stepped back, taking Roman’s hand firmly. Roman’s other hand twitched by his side, hovering just above the hilt of his sword, fury and betrayal and — most potent, most useful, most delicious of all —  _pain_  swimming in his eyes. His whole being had dimmed; his skin pale, his hair dull.

 _ **“Rage.”**_  Virgil appeared with a rush of freezing darkness. His eyes were wide and paranoid, his skin cracked through with veins of deepest black, a patchwork disaster falling apart at the seems. He’d traded out his new hoodie for the old one, and he clutched at the fabric like it was the only thing holding him together.

“A-A dark side.” And there was Patton, his colors faded and sepia-toned, his skin a mess of porcelain cracks. His voice was nearly empty, and his expression wavered between burning sadness and complete and utter apathy.

“V-Virge? Pat?” Roman glanced at his counterparts, and finally his hand closed around his sword. In one swift movement, he shoved Thomas out of the way and drew his blade, pushing it just beneath Logic’s jaw, close enough to draw blood. He tilted his head up with the edge of the blade, his eyes narrowed. “If you insist on acting like a  _villain,_  I shall treat you as one. You are  _not_  touching my family. Leave.”

Logic laughed outright, unbothered by the deadly-sharp blade at his throat. “You do not frighten me,” he said, “but I frighten you, don’t I? You know I’m right, and you  _loathe_  it. You’re a  _failure,_  Roman! Weak, pathetic, so easily manipulatable that you even trust Deceit. You’re no hero. You’re  _nothing.”_

He spared only a moment’s glance for Virgil, who had drawn his hood and hunched his shoulders, his face wild and terrified. The veins of black had spiderwebbed across his throat, and though he obviously tried, he couldn’t get a word out. Logic smiled. That was ideal; he couldn’t have them banding together to stop him. His power relied on their pain.

Roman’s sword wavered and so did he, the  _life_  draining from his face, leaving only shattered insecurity in his eyes. “Look around you,” Logic sneered. “Your family is already broken. I am only bringing to light the issues that you were too weak to face.”

“Logan —”

“Logic,” he cut Thomas off sharply. “It is time for things to change. No longer with Thomas’ life be led down this disastrous path. No longer will I be  _ignored.”_

“You weren’t ignored,” Patton managed, his voice hoarse. “We —”

 _“Falsehood!”_  Logic burst out, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. “I was never included! I was never heeded! It is time for things to change,” he said again, his voice a gravelly growl, bright scarlet laced through his words. He grabbed the end of Roman’s sword and darkness spread from his touch, dissolving the cold metal to ash.

“Y-You — you won’t get away with this!” Roman said, but his voice broke and trembled, the tail end of his false bravado crumbling with his sword. Logic laughed cruelly.

“I already have,” he said. He looked to each of them in turn — the broken heart, the faded prince, the failed protector; and Thomas, his Thomas, who would be grateful in time — and smiled. “Farewell. You are no longer needed.”

And with a wave of power, he forced the others sides to sink down. Thomas stepped back despite himself, his face flooded with a deluge of pesky emotions — the feelings the others were experiencing, most likely, but Logic could numb those with time.

“Y-You think this will make me listen to you?” Thomas cried, voice shaking. Logic’s vision flared bright red and he chuckled, a humorless sound.

“You must, Thomas,” he said, his voice a furious victory. “I am all you have left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAND ACT ONE IS FINISHED !!!!!!
> 
> thank u all sm for all the support so far!!!! <3 <3 <3


	7. Interlude

Logic felt something shift in the mindscape the moment Thomas clicked delete.

Cracks spiraled outwards from Roman’s room, shifting the mindscape, changing it,  _ upgrading _ it. He could feel them more than he could see them; sharp spikes of agony emanating from the prince himself. He held himself a little higher as Thomas began searching for jobs, exercising his control as easily as one controls a puppet. Rage was right; this was far easier than he’d expected.

Thomas’ phone lit up with a deluge of notifications, and Logic kept Thomas’ hand away with a wave of his own. “Ignore them,” he said. “They are not the priority.”

And Thomas listened, albeit reluctantly. A smile found its way onto Logic’s face, sharp satisfaction lodging in his chest. It felt  _ good _ to be listened to. With no one interfering, none of the others rising up to muddy his clear plans with their  _ emotions _ —

Someone began pounding on the door. Thomas jumped and Logic sneered, the loss of concentration like a jolt of lightning through his lungs.

“Alright, where the fuck is the channel?” Joan pushed their way inside the moment Thomas opened the door, eyes narrowed and face confused. “Please tell me this is just a glitch.”

Thomas hesitated, regret shattering in his brown eyes, and Logic set a hand on his shoulder to force it away. They spoke in unison; Logic leading, Thomas repeating. “I deleted it.”

Joan jerked in shock. “You — you  _ what?” _ they exclaimed, betrayal flitting across their face. “I — I don’t understand. Why the fuck would you delete our channel?”

Logic’s grip on Thomas’ shoulder tightened. For a moment, memories flooded his mind, and Thomas’ to match, but he shoved away the spike of warmth that Joan made him feel.  _ They’re only holding him back, _ a voice whispered in his head, not quite his.  _ Do it. _

“Things needed to change,” Thomas said, voice halting and pained. “The channel was great, really, really great, and I’m so sorry for deleting it without telling you first, I —”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Thomas,” Logic said, safe in the knowledge that Joan could neither see nor hear him. “This is for the greater good.”

He felt a hint of resistance, a tiny wave of emotions, and shoved them back with all the force he could muster. More cracks spiraled, spiderwebbing from Patton’s side of the mindscape. “It’s time for me to grow up,” Thomas said, his face growling cold, indifferent.

“What the  _ hell,” _ Joan snapped, eyes narrowed, face furious. “That wasn’t your decision to make! The channel is just as much mine as it is yours! You can’t just —”

“I can, and I did,” Logic said through Thomas. “I’ve been held back for too long. I’m better than some stupid Youtube channel.”

And if Joan noticed that Thomas’ words didn’t seem like his own, they didn’t say it. Their face crumpled and they rebuilt it out of fury, their hands curling into fists by their sides. “What the fuck is  _ wrong _ with you?” they growled. “You disappear for days, and then suddenly you just delete all our hard work out of nowhere? That’s not what friends do!”

“Then maybe we aren’t friends,” Logic said, and Thomas recoiled at the venom in the words, the mask Logic had gifted him shattering to reveal the deep hurt beneath. He crafted a new one before Thomas could apologize.  _ This is necessary, _ he reminded himself.

Joan’s anger snapped away as quickly as it had appeared, and something frigid and pained took its place. “Maybe we aren’t,” they said, their voice softly broken. They opened their mouth to say more, thought better of it, and whirled around, stomping back out the way they’d come.

Thomas whirled on Logic, wrestling himself from his control. “How could you make —”

Logic snapped his fingers and Thomas’ jaw snapped shut, his words dying on his tongue. Being a dark side certainly had its perks. “I am doing what is right,” he said, both to Thomas and himself. “In time, you’ll see the benefits of my actions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the emotional turmoil of hurting a fictional joan was almost too much to bear i feel awful
> 
> :'3


	8. Into the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand its time for deceit's arc! this is gonna be heavily sympathetic deceit (like the kind where he's still an asshole, but in an annoying little brother way, like... like doofenshmirtz style?? ig??), so if that's not ur thing be careful
> 
> hope you enjoy!!! im super excited for this :3c

Deceit was  _definitely_  happy with this turn of events.

Rage — that idiot, that goddamned moron — had gone behind his back and manipulated Logan to the dark side. Not only had he stolen Deceit’s thing, he had used it to bring about the worst possible outcome! Did he have any idea what he’d done? Did he even care?

Of course he didn’t. There was a reason Deceit kept him hidden from Thomas. He was  _dangerous,_  a timebomb just waiting to go off and tear the balance of the mindscape to shreds. Deceit was a dark side, but he wasn’t  _evil;_  his sole goal was self-preservation, keeping Thomas  _safe._  Rage, on the other hand?

Rage was pure  _malice._

And despite Deceit’s best efforts, he’d managed to claw his way to the top, using Logan as a stepladder. He’d torn Thomas’ life apart, isolating him from his friends, destroying his interests; turning Logan into his puppet and Thomas into a hollow, broken shell. The light sides were gone. Now Logan and Rage ruled side-by-side, puppet and master, bringing the mindscape and everyone in it to their knees.

Oh, this was  _definitely_  ideal.

One of Deceit’s functions was keeping the mindscape  _balanced._  He maintained the equilibrium between light and dark — a thankless job, really, but a necessary one. Without light, Thomas had no motivation, no driving force, no personality; and every human needed a bit of darkness to  _be,_  well, human. Now there was no equilibrium at all — and Deceit’s worst enemy had taken control.

Naturally, Deceit and Logic were opposite forces. Lies and truth — though, really, did Logan even represent truth anymore? Rage had certainly twisted him far enough away from the facts of the situation. But he  _believed_  he was truthful, and as a result believed that Deceit didn’t deserve a spot at the table. Years of being a good — okay, well, maybe not  _good,_  but a  _decent_  leader, and suddenly he was shoved aside by a furious half-pint “dark” side? Not. Fair.

And he thought he knew what it felt like to be hated and ignored  _before._

He couldn’t allow this to continue. He couldn’t stand idly by, watching as an idiot who didn’t know what he was doing destroyed everything Thomas had built. So he confronted Logan, determined to make him see reason.

“You’re  _not_  driving him to ruin,” he growled, slamming his hands down on the table between him and Logan. He’d had enough of being ignored. In hindsight, maybe facing Logan in his office wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wasn’t about to let his host be run into the ground by a tiny ball of twisted fury.

“Precisely,” Logan snapped, his one crimson eye glittering. “I’m not. I apologize for your inability to see reason,  _snake.”_

“Glass houses,” Deceit said smoothly, nose twitching with frustration. “How you could actually see this as the most logical course of action is beyond me. Rage  _isn’t_  manipulating you!”

“Shut up,” Logan growled, voice haggard and furious. “You have no right to speak to me in this way. All you do is _lie_. Get out.”

“You have no right to hurt Thomas —”

“I am not hurting him!” Logan shot to his feet and slammed his own hands on the table, the snarl tearing from his throat and hanging in the air between them, dripping with denial. “Rage and I are the only ones in this entire goddamned place who aren’t  _cowards!_  Just because you are unhappy with the changes I’ve brought about does not mean the changes are bad —”

“Oh, but it does!” Deceit cut in, meeting Logan’s furious glare with a resolute one of his own. “There was a reason I kept things balanced. Thomas is going to fall apart, all because you’re too  _stupid_  to understand the damage you’re causing.”

“Get out!” Logan roared, and with a wave of his hand sent Deceit sinking down so fast that his stomach leapt into his throat. He tumbled through rushing darkness for a terrifying moment, colors popping and flashing before his eyes, before landing in a sore, dizzy heap on freezing cold ground.

“How _dare_ he?” Deceit hissed, shoving himself to his feet and immediately overbalancing and falling right back down. He knotted his hands in the fabric of his cloak and fought the urge to scream, pushing himself back up — and then he froze, the blood draining from his face. “No.”

He wasn’t in the dark side of the mindscape anymore. The gates loomed before him, his home just beyond, just out of reach. Behind him stood the crumbled, shattered entrance to the light side, the previously grand doors cracked and broken, the world beyond empty and cold.

He was in the in-between. A cold, barren landscape, close enough to the subconscious to destroy a side, to pull them in until they disappeared completely.

“No,” he said again, hands curling around the wrought iron gates. “No, no,  _no no no!”_  He tugged and tugged until his hands ached, but the gates wouldn’t budge. Desperation choked off his panicked pleas and he stumbled backward, nausea curling in the pit of his stomach. He was locked out.  _Logan had locked him out._

Things had been bad before, but at least he’d had  _some_  influence over Thomas’ actions. Serving as a buffer between Thomas and Logan’s rage was better than not serving at all. But this? He couldn’t do anything from here! He was going to fade away into the subconscious, and then what would happen to Thomas?

Anger replaced the cold fear in his lungs and he balled his hands into fists, face twitching furiously.  _This. Wasn’t. Fair._

“You idiot!” he screamed, charging at the gates full-force. “You —” Slam. “Can’t —” Slam. “Do —” Slam. “This!”

A wave of deep crimson energy pulsed outwards from the gates and hit him with all the force of several trucks, sending him flying into the light sides’ gate. His vision blurred and blinked out as pain shot through every inch of his body, and he slumped to the ground, darkness tugging at the edges of his mind. The cold of the in-between had already gotten to him; he felt sluggish, tired, ready to just lay down and give up.

_It would be so easy to give up._

He fell to his hands and knees, his arms shivering beneath his weight, threatening to give. He lifted his head, hoping to catch one last glimpse of his home before the in-between dissolved him away —

And instead, he found himself staring at the light sides’ gate.

An idea occurred to him so quickly, he almost jerked in shock. Logan had only been able to fully take power _after_  defeating the light sides. With them shattered, there was no one powerful enough to stand in his way. But if they were to come back… if someone were to help them…

It was a fool’s plan, really — but there was a fine line between desperation and genius, and this wasn’t the first time Deceit had found himself walking it. He staggered to his feet, though his legs shook beneath him, and set a hand on the glimmering doors. Eyebrows furrowed in thought, he ran a gloved finger along the cracks spiderwebbing through the stained glass.

They had no reason to trust him. They had no will to go on. Were they even salvageable?

Deceit glanced at his home, at the malevolent red light glinting in the highest tower of the dark sides’ palace, and determination hardened in his gut. He had to  _try._

“For Thomas,” he whispered, placing his palm on the glass. He took a deep breath and shoved, and dusty, cold light spilled into the in-between.

“For Thomas,” he said again, stronger this time — and Deceit stepped into the light.


	9. The Broken Kingdom

Deceit had never felt a silence quite so awful in his life.

The light sides’ part of the mindscape had been shattered in more ways than one. Jagged cracks sliced through the one warm common room, cutting through old furniture, leaving books and movies scattered across the mottled gray carpet in a haphazard mess. The TV sparked with static, as if clinging to a life it knew it had lost.

“Hello? He called, and his voice echoed back to him in a million shades of loneliness. He shivered, tugging his cloak tighter around himself. If he didn’t find some warmth soon, he’d surely pass out. “I’m  _not_  here to help!”

Still nothing. He sighed, spinning in a circle as he searched for some sign of life,  _anything_  to prove the light sides were still there. It almost felt like he was the last man alive; completely and utterly alone in a broken world.

No, no, he couldn’t start thinking like that, not until he’d exhausted every option, every possible means of victory. Eyeing the sharp crack at his feet, he made his way to the stairs, gingerly climbing the creaking mess.

Four doors waited for him at the top.

The first was peeled and faded and mottled, hints of a once-bright crimson peeking out behind stains of off-gray. The shining nametag, once hung proudly on the door, had fallen to the ground, rusted and shot through with cracks. The next was pure gray, marred with a spiderweb of cracks. Deceit could just barely make out the crayon doodles once drawn with love across the wood, left twisted and destroyed. He could barely see the third through the darkness surrounding it, leaking from beneath the door to stain the wood deepest black. He couldn’t step any closer to it without the darkness reaching out to drag him in, filling his throat with thick paranoia.

And the final door was broken in two, pieces of deep blue wood scattered across the carpet.

Deceit let out a shivering sigh and stooped to pick up the broken namepiece. His hands shook so badly, he could barely make out the name written in beautiful cursive across the rusted metal.

“Roman,” he whispered. A good first target; he’d always been the easiest of the light sides to get on his side. He set a hand on the mottled wood and immediately drew it back, hissing in alarm. It took a moment for the wave of insecurity that had washed over him to subside, and when it did, he slumped against the opposite wall, shaking from head to toe. 

Roman wasn’t creativity anymore. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did — with a certainty stronger than he’d ever felt before. The metal placard crumbled into rust-colored dust in his hands and slipped between his fingers.

Somehow, Logan had turned the light sides into  _different_  sides. He knew that in his bones; the truth settled deep within him, a guiding light through the darkness closing in. That was why they weren’t fighting back, why Logan and Rage had so easily taken control. He didn’t just have to help them — he had to turn them back into themselves.

And to do that, he had to face whatever the new sides’ rooms had in store for him.

With a deep, steadying breath, Deceit narrowed his eyes and plunged forward, shoving open Roman’s door.

The sight beyond it wasn’t altogether unexpected, but it was… strange. It seemed like yet another one of those fantasy realms Roman was so keen on creating — a grand, sprawling landscape, villages and forests scattered beneath the mountain he stood atop. On the edge of the horizon, a great tower stood framed by the setting sun.

But everything was black and white, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. No imagined townspeople to fill the imagined towns; no fake animals to populate the forests. It was just… empty. When Deceit looked closer, her found that time itself seemed to have come to a stop. The wind didn’t blow, the clouds didn’t move, the sun didn’t set any farther.

“Well, this isn’t foreboding,” he said, thankful that the realm was at least somewhat warmer than the rest of the mindscape. His eyes slipped shut as the sun’s warmth washed over his skin, driving away the cold fog that had filled his brain — and then he yelped when the door behind him slammed shut and vanished, leaving him alone on the mountaintop. He would have laughed at the ominous nature of it all, if he wasn’t scared.

“No,” he hissed to himself. “I’m  _not_  scared.”

A moment passed, silent. “I’m not,” he said again, as if the world itself would respond, call him on his bluff, give him a chance to prove his bravery. Nothing happened. He growled, throwing his hands up in the air, and with nothing better to do, he started down the pathway before him.

The kingdom was  _massive,_  but Deceit knew Roman, at least well enough to know where he’d be. The tower on the edge of the horizon was practically identical to the one from Tangled, and the world felt enough like it had been placed under a mass, Sleeping-Beauty-esque sleeping curse that Deceit felt fairly certain it  _had_  been. Surely, Roan would be waiting in the tower, fast asleep, for once playing the damsel in distress.

And, well, Deceit had never been good at playing the _hero_  — in fact, his  _completely_  malicious tendencies shuddered at the thought — but if it was for Thomas, he’d gladly take the role. As long as it didn’t involve any kissing; he’d die before he kissed any of the other sides.

But — he thought, as he  _finally_  reached the end of the path and collapsed against a tree at the bottom of the winding mountain, his legs aching — he might just die anyway. Roman’s realm was frozen; he’d find no help, not a single soul to befriend or manipulate. He was on his own, trapped in a foreign land with a job he never should have been given in the first place.

At least it was warm. Plus, a land devoid of people couldn’t exactly produce any threats. All he had to do was get from this side of the kingdom to the tower in the distance, and —

Something  _roared_ , and a plume of white-hot fire shot high into the sky right beside the tower.

“Holy sssshit,” Deceit hissed, scrambling backwards so quickly he tripped over his own feet and crashed to the ground. A hulking shape scaled the side of the tower, curling around the top. Its deep, crimson wings were a stain against the ashy gray sky as it stretched them out, blocking out the sunlight. It reared its horned head back and let out a guttural growl that sent Deceit’s heart leaping into his throat.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. A broken mindscape, he could handle. A frozen kingdom wasn’t so bad. But a dragon? A fucking  _dragon?_

He staggered to his feet and was halfway ready to run when he stopped himself, gritting his teeth. “No,” he said firmly, turning back to the task at hand. He couldn’t run now.

The dragon dug its claws into the tower’s roof and let out a long cry. It almost sounded… mournful. Deceit’s eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head to one side as he regarded the beast. Its movements were awkward and unsure, and it didn’t seem to be in control of the fire spurting from its mighty jaws. Was it a baby? Or was Roman’s sleeping curse affecting it, weakening it?

Well, that changed things. He could certainly take a weak, unsure dragon — and he _totally_  wasn’t lying to himself.

He could do this. He could help Roman. He just… had to defeat a dragon first.

“You  _can’t_  do this,” he said to himself, and then immediately decided that maybe he wasn’t the best source of pep talks in the world. Squaring his shoulders, he marched down the forest path, gaze locked resolutely on his goal.

 _For Thomas,_  he thought. _For Roman._

And then:  _for the sake of pissing Logan off._


	10. Dragon Quest

There really wasn’t as much to the kingdom as Deceit had thought. At first glance, it seemed a sprawling, unique landscape, but up close it was fractured and glitched, the same towns again and again, the same forest paths leading through the same woods and out into the same valleys. It was a stitched patchwork of the same pattern, over and over again. The one and only point of uniqueness was the tower — and the very, very foreboding dragon guarding it.

He found some weapons hidden away in one abandoned town, and though he didn’t know how to use them, he felt safer with the twin daggers fastened at his side. He nicked a shield, too, and it hung awkwardly over his arm. They were a hollow comfort, though. He wasn’t much of a  _ fighter, _ after all. Working in the shadows was so much easier.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, or how much longer the path stretched ahead of him. The timeless realm played tricks on his mind, until he felt like he’d been frozen in time, too. The sun never set. But he kept walking, his gaze never wavering from the tower as it grew closer and closer. He studied the dragon as he walked, watching how uncertain it seemed, committing its movements to memory. Soon enough, he’d have to face the beast, slay it, somehow.

And then… then, he’d have to fix the prince.

And wouldn’t  _ that  _ just be the easiest thing in the world? He didn’t know the first thing about  _ helping _ others. Or, well, he did — but he didn’t know any methods that didn’t involve trickery, deception, or manipulation. Could Roman be tricked into feeling better? He had always been the easiest of the light sides to fool, so eager for validation that he threw himself at the feet of the first person to give it to him. 

But he had a feeling that that wouldn’t be the case here. Whatever Logan had done to him, it had caused more damage than a few false compliments could heal. Roman wasn’t even creativity anymore; Deceit had to re-teach him to do his own job.

He sighed, leaning against an ash-gray tree to rest. This was ridiculous. He’d never be able to manage this on his own. And even if he could get past the dragon, who’s to say Roman would even trust him? He wasn’t the same Roman he used to know. Maybe he’d see through him. Maybe he’d  _ hate _ him.

He probably would. No, he  _ definitely _ would. He’d already started to see Deceit for the horrible person he was before Logan had decided to explode; he’d never believe that he was there to help. And why should he? Deceit had never given him any reason to think of him as anything but a  _ liar. _ All he did was cheat and deceive and manipulate — all he did was  _ hurt. _

He’d hunched over without realizing, his breathing short and panicked, his hands clenched so tightly around his arms that they’d begun to ache. He forced himself to step back from the voice screaming insults in his head, analyzing the situation. He wasn’t in Anxiety’s room. Where had this wave of self-loathing come from?

And then it hit him. The flood of insecurity he’d felt when he’d touched Roman’s door, and the dread he’d felt ever since… it all made sense, now.

He wasn’t in Anxiety’s room — but he was in Insecurity’s.

He closed his eyes and slid to the ground, forcing himself to focus on his breath and  _ only _ his breath. He couldn’t afford to let the self-loathing tear him apart now; he usually scheduled these attacks for more convenient times. The voice began to fade, though it never disappeared completely, whispering sour nothings in his ear.

Now he knew what Roman had become. What  _ Logan _ had turned him into, what he would have to reverse. Somehow, somehow, he  _ had _ to reverse it. Even if Roman didn’t trust him, even if  _ no one _ trusted him, it was better to be a hated part of a  _ healthy _ Thomas. He had to get Creativity back.

He heaved a heavy sigh and pushed himself back to his feet. Insecurity fluttered like wasps in his lungs, but there was something deeper beneath it, overpowering it, something burning hot and powerful. Determination renewed, he continued down the path.

The tower sat on an island in the center of a sea of brambles, razor-sharp thorns pointed every which way. The dragon clutched the tower like it was afraid it would fall in, its wings curled tightly against its back. Couldn’t it fly? Deceit hoped not. If all he had to do was send it plummeting to a sharp death below… well, it made his job a lot easier.

He stood under the cover of the forest, watching the beast. Its massive chest heaved as it strained to keep itself upright, flames spurting from between its teeth and sending curls of smoke into the air. He didn’t see a path through the brambles, but he could easily cut one through, and he could climb the ivy trailing along the tower to the top. Surely, he’d find the prince locked away inside.

All he had to do was kill a dragon.

He winced as a wall of flames spouted from the dragon’s maw, curling back into the safety of the forest when the heat became almost too much to bear. “I’m  _ not _ scared,” he whispered to himself, glaring at the dragon as it curled up around the tower’s roof. All it was was a stupid, terrifying scaly thing.  _ He _ was a terrifying scaly thing! He could do this.

But he didn’t move. His hand shook, hovering just above the hilt of one dagger. He sighed, biting his lip. “...I’m scared,” he admitted, finally, his voice far too meek for his liking. He lifted his head, tilting his chin as bravely as he could manage, defiance sparking to life in his eyes. “And I’m going to do it anyway.”

With a growl, he drew his dagger, and set off towards the sea of brambles. Hidden in the overgrown tangle, he could avoid the dragon for just long enough to sneak up on it. Then he could… what did heroes do in these situations? He could… take the dragon’s heart, perhaps? Present it to Roman as proof of his dedication?

The dragon let out a slow, sad trill in the back of its throat, eyes half-lidded as though it was falling asleep. It hit Deceit, then, what he was about to do. He’d done some awful things in his life, things even  _ he _ couldn’t be proud of — but he’d never  _ killed _ anything before. His stomach turned and he hesitated, grip tightening around the hilt of his dagger.

Maybe… Maybe he could sneak past it. The dragon was obviously falling asleep; he could see it relaxing through the gaps in the brambles above as he cut his way through. If he could get Roman out before it woke up, and take him somewhere else to help him, he wouldn’t have to kill the poor beast at all. He was a snake, after all. Sneaking was his specialty

It was slow, tedious work, slicing his way through the maze. The thorns tugged at his clothes and tore at his skin, and the dagger was awkward in his unpracticed hands. But he was making progress, however slowly, and the tower came closer and closer with each bus he cut. The dragon’s deep snoring became the background noise to his work, and he sliced in rhythm with it.

He hated how timeless the realm felt. The sun never set, and the world never changed. He could have been working for hours, or for five minutes, and he wouldn’t know. The monotony of his chore left him tired and frustrated, and he vowed right then and there to someday trap Logan in a maze of brambles and let  _ him _ cut his way out, when all this ridiculousness had passed.

_ Finally, _ he emerged onto the other side, scraped and bloodied but victorious all the same. He craned his neck to gaze at the tower and the long, off-white mass of scales sitting atop it, shifting ever so slightly as it slept. With a steadying breath, Deceit sheathed his dagger, hefted his shield over his shoulder, and grabbed an ivy trellis.

If the bramble maze was frustrating, this was  _ torture. _ Thomas had never been an athletic sort, and neither was he; a life spent orchestrating things from the shadows didn’t call for physical strength, after all. But this —  _ this _ sure as hell did. By the time he reached the window, he was soaked with sweat, his breathing labored and heavy. He wished he’d never grabbed the shield. All it did was tug him back towards the ground, far too heavy to be legal.

He crouched on the ledge outside the window, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Hands shaking and raw, he cradled the intricate lock, turning it over and narrowing his eyes. Why hadn’t he realized it might have been locked? He had no key, and he certainly hadn’t had time to grab his lockpick before Logan had kicked him out. He had to —

Above him, the snoring abruptly cut off, and dust fell from the roof as the scaly mass began to shift. Deceit froze, a gasp hitching in his throat, and a litany of curses tore from his lips as he fumbled with the lock. “Shit, shit,  _ shit —”  _ He gave up on the lock and shoved his shoulder into the thick glass. Pain exploded up and down his arm but still he kept trying, kept pushing, because he couldn’t be caught outside when —

A puff of hot air pushed against his back and he froze, his scream of fear dying in his throat. Slowly, he turned, the blood draining from his face, and faced the dragon. It glared at him, bright golden eyes flooded with fear and disbelief and too many other emotions to name. Wisps of flame jumped from between its gritted teeth, washing Deceit in their too-warm glow.

“Ha,” Deceit laughed weakly, his voice trembling so badly he could barely speak. He tried for a charming grin, but his eyes were probably too full of involuntary tears for the effect to do much good. “H-Hello, nice dragon —”

The dragon  _roared._


	11. Know Who You Are

Deceit leaped to the side as an explosion of fire burst forth from the dragon’s mouth, and just barely managed to grab the ivy before he plummeted to a sharp death below. His instincts took over —  _ climb, climb, climb, _ his brain screamed, as the dragon scrambled for purchase behind him, its roar a cacophony of shock and anger and terror.

At least Deceit wasn’t alone in his fear.

The thought didn’t bring him any comfort.

He swung up onto the roof and scrambled to find his footing, tearing his daggers from his belt. The dragon clawed its way up after him, ripping roof-tiles free in a shower of debris, its golden eyes narrowed and shining with something… familiar. Deceit hesitated, his blades lowering — and the dragon swung one mighty claw, inches away from tearing Deceit to bloody snake bits.

He lifted his shield and blocked a volley of flames, a litany of swears dying on his tongue as heat licked around the edges. He pushed his way forward before his confidence could fail him completely, swinging his daggers with all the skill of one who had never even touched a kitchen knife before — and the dragon knocked him aside with a swipe of its claw, sending him tumbling towards the edge of the roof.

_ Shit shit shit — _ he grabbed the edge and hung on for dear life, his weapons tumbling to the ground far,  _ far _ below. His breath hitched in his throat and he choked on a scream, yanking himself back onto the roof before his aching arms could give out. The dragon roared, smoke curling from its massive mouth, and with a flap of its mighty wings, it shot up into the air.

With Deceit — who had grabbed onto one massive ankle on instinct to keep from falling to the ground below — as its unhappy stowaway. He screamed as the ground disappeared from beneath him, his stomach flying out through his feet. “So  _ now _ you can fly?” he shrieked. The dragon seemed surprised too; its flight was wobbly and unstable, and it couldn’t seem to move anywhere but  _ up. _

And then it spotted him.

It let out a loud, cat-like yelp, jerking its foot, as Deceit felt his heart plummet as his hands slipped from around the dragon’s ankle. The world seemed to freeze and he hung in agonizing free-fall, his last cry caught in his throat, the world blurring around him —

And then he crashed through the roof of the tower and landed, with an explosion of pain, on something soft. Darkness danced in front of his gaze, his consciousness blinking in and out, and only the dragon’s roar, somewhere between victorious and mournful, drew him back to the real world.

With great effort, he shoved himself to his feet. He was in a room, that, judging by its size, took up the entirety of the top of the tower. He’d landed in a bed — the only bed he could see, the one at the top of the tower where the prince was supposed to be waiting, sleeping.

“No,” he whispered, voice shaking. The room was empty. There wasn’t a soul in sight, least of all a prince. If Roman wasn’t here,  _ where was he?” _

Outside, the dragon let out a long, guttural growl, and Deceit froze, his eyes flying wide. No… no, it  _ couldn’t _ be…

White scales, red wings, eyes the color of a familiar golden trim. The dragon couldn’t fly, couldn’t control its fire… it seemed awkward, unsure, like it hadn’t always been a dragon, like it still wasn’t used to it.

Like  _ he _ wasn’t used to it.

Deceit’s breath left him in one big  _ whoosh, _ realization hitting him with all the force of several freight trains. “Holy sssshit,” he hissed, staggering backwards. How?  _ Why? _ “Oh, it definitely  _ wasn’t _ complicated enough already!” he growled to the heavens, throwing his hands in the air. 

And that was the worst thing he could have done, really, because now the dragon knew he was alive. He landed with a heavy  _ thud _ on the roof, scraping his claws around the hole Deceit’s body had made, and Deceit stumbled backwards into the half-melted window. An idea came to him — a  _ mad _ idea, one synonymous with suicide — and he gasped, eyes flying wide.

What other choice did he have?

He swung himself out of the window and pulled himself back onto the roof, standing as steadily as he could. The dragon turned, tail lashing through the air, and his golden eyes landed on Deceit. He growled uncertainly, curling in on himself.

“It’s okay,” Deceit said slowly, holding out his hands. He took a step forward and the dragon took one back, eyes narrowing. “It’s okay. I am not here to hurt you.”

The dragon whined, long and slow in the back of his throat, and Deceit made a sympathetic noise. “I know,” he purred. “He  _ didn’t _ hurt you terribly. You  _ definitely _ deserved it.”

He recognize the split-second look of confusion in his eyes, as he worked out the true meaning of Deceit’s words. Then he tilted his head, curling further into himself with a small, insecure noise. Deceit took another step forward, and counted it as a victory when the dragon didn’t step back.

“You’re in pain,” Deceit said, his voice gentle. “I’m  _ not _ here to help.”

The dragon winced as he approached. “I’m going to fix things,” Deceit whispered, and for one he didn’t have to struggle to keep his words from twisting into lies. The truth tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’m going to fix the damage he caused. I’m going to help you.”

He closed the distance between them, and set a gloved hand on the side of the dragon’s head. The dragon tensed at first, but then he leaned into the touch, golden eyes slipping shut, a low, heartbroken whine escaping his mouth. “It’s okay,” Deceit whispered. “It’s okay, Roman.”

And the dragon began to glow.

Deceit winced as the light grew, squinting through the glow, and in a flash of blinding gold and burning warmth, the dragon disappeared — and Roman, colorless and unconscious but  _ alive, _ fell into his arms. Deceit staggered under his weight, struggling to keep his footing on the slanted rooftop.

He shifted Roman in his arms. There wasn’t a spot of color on him; his outfit faded  and torn, his hair stark white, his skin ashy gray. White scales dotted his cheeks, shining dully in the gray sunlight.

“Well, well, well,” Deceit said softly, running a finger across the scales, scattered like freckles. “One of us is going to have to change.”

He chuckled at his own joke, but his laughter faded quickly. They were still on top of a roof, one mistake away from tumbling into the sea of brambles below, and though Deceit  _ never _ made mistakes, he didn’t like their chances. He had to get them off the roof. 

He shuffled along, slowly, carefully, towards the hole he’d made when he fell through the roof. As the adrenaline rushing through his veins faded away, Roman became heavier and heavier, until his arms ached beneath the weight. “This  _ wouldn’t _ be easier if you weren’t unconscious,” he rumbled, throwing Roman over his shoulder and looping an arm around his stomach. “You’d better  _ not _ be grateful for this.”

Oh, he knew he wouldn’t be grateful anyway. None of them would be. However he acted — good, bad, somewhere in that wonderfully fun gray bit in between — he would always be  _ Deceit. _ They’d never really be grateful for his actions. He’d accepted that long ago.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t complain about it.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, he stepped up to the edge of the hole. The room waited below —  _ far _ below, his thoughts reminded him, though the distance wasn’t really all that much. He grit his teeth, nose wrinkling hesitantly as he stared down. If he made it out of this, he was never going to go anywhere high ever again. He was a snake in the  _ grass, _ for lying’s sake, not a snake in the  _ stupidly-high-dangerous-place. _

The things he did for these morons.

“Hold on,” he said, both to himself and Roman, and jumped down into the hole. The bed buckled beneath his weight, groaning in protest, but it ultimately held. Deceit fell onto his back with a yelp, Roman sprawled out across his stomach. He took a moment to reclaim the breath that had been knocked from him, leftover adrenaline rushing through his veins. His heart pounded against his ribs, frantic and unsure.

A moment’s reprieve and he was back on his feet, shoving Roman away. He limped as he paced, sharp pain shooting up and down his left leg, but he grip his teeth and bore it. He had to think, and no morally gray asshole could  _ possibly _ consider thinking without pacing dramatically, it just didn’t work like that.

Step one was completely. The dragon was gone, and Roman was alive. Monochromatic, but alive nonetheless. On to step two, whatever that was. All he had to do was bring back Roman’s colors, right? Re-teach him to be a prince. Banish Insecurity and bring back Creativity.

Oh, why did  _ every _ plan of his have to be easier said than done? If Logan ever got off his high horse and stopped fighting for the title of Biggest Douchebag in the Mindscape, he was going to owe Deceit  _ big time. _

He sighed, pausing, his gaze falling on Roman. He’d curled up into a little ball on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, face hardened in a tight wince. Deceit’s heart twinged in sympathy, the traitorous thing. How many times had he fallen asleep just like that? Of the light sides, Roman had always been the… kindest to Deceit. A stark contrast to Virgil’s barely concealed hatred and Patton’s thinly veiled passive-aggressive disgust, at least. To see him in such a familiar state of  self-hatred discomfort…

Deceit shook his head. His job was to restore the balance,  _ not _ to get attached. Roman was just another step towards victory; he couldn’t afford to see him as anything else. No use  _ hoping _ for a friendship that could never be.

Hope. How he  _ hated _ that shit.

But for once, he’d have to inspire some. His eyebrows drew together as he watched Roman. Once upon a time, the prince had  _ been _ hope — and dreams, and love, and creativity, Thomas’ most fanciful thoughts and dizziest daydreams pulled together into one remarkable being. Now, if Deceit’s gut feeling was right (and it always, always was), Roman had been twisted into the exact opposite of that. Doubt, self-hatred, creative block, all the things he’d once fought again.

How could he fix that? Where could he even start?

He could start, he supposed, by waiting for Roman to wake up. He  _ had _ always been the easiest of the light sides to… sway to his point of view. Perhaps all it would take was a conversation, a few smooth words, a compliment or two, to bring him back to his former glory.

Perhaps, if he told himself that enough times, he might actually believe it.


	12. Insecurity

Oh, Deceit was  _ so happy _ with the situation at hand.

As the hours drew on, his injured leg became more and more painful, until he could barely walk without toppling to the ground. Sides healed quicker than humans, at least, but not quickly enough to relieve him of his agony any time soon. Climbing down the tower was out of the question, especially considering Roman had torn most of the ivy away during their battle. He was trapped — injured and alone in a tower with someone who would  _ never _ grow to trust him.

He groaned, glaring at the ceiling. He’d propped his leg up on an armchair in search of some relief, but that left him to lay on the floor, and, really, there was nothing more uncomfortable than a stone floor. His back ached, a dull thrumming beat to accompany the shrill agony of his leg.

He didn’t know what he dreaded more: the continued silence of Roman’s sleep, or whatever was coming when he awoke. Deceit prided himself on being a master of cunning, devious plans, but he’d turned the situation over in his head again and again and again, and the only idea that presented itself to him was… impossible.

Furthermore, planning something was easier than actually seeing it to completion, and he had no idea how to even  _ begin _ moving forward. Bringing Roman back to his old self wouldn’t be easy; he’d have to build his self-confidence back up from square one, which would entail copious amounts of  _ compliments _ and  _ reassurances _ and other disgustingly  _ soft _ things like that. Soft thing that he didn’t even know if he was capable of producing.

Oh, he could certainly  _ fabricate _ them. Flattery got a man everywhere, after all, and it was oh so easy to wax poetic about someone if every verse was a lie. But he had a feeling lies weren’t going to cut it this time around. The  _ old _ Roman had been particularly susceptible to his flattery, but that was when he still had that shred of confidence, that hope that maybe,  _ maybe _ he wasn’t as bad as his thoughts told him he was.

Roman had clung to his compliments because he used them to feed that shred, to convince himself that the mask he wore was his true face. But Logan had snuffed out that hope, leaving behind only insecurities and doubts, and without it, there was nothing to feed, nothing to nurture. He wouldn’t accept Deceit’s compliments at face value, too overpowered by doubts to believe them. No, he’d call Deceit out on his, well,  _ deceit, _ and they’d get nowhere fast.

But would genuine compliments work? Or would Roman’s insecurities drown them out as well? He sighed sharply, fingers tapping against the floor in a thoughtful pattern. He’d reached the conclusion that compliments wouldn’t work several times, and each time he’d remained just as unable to work around it. It frustrated him to no end.

There had to be another angle. What else motivated Roman, beyond validation? Quests? Could he fabricate some wild goose-chase, perhaps, send him gallivanting across his own kingdom and hope he regained some of his prince-ness along the way…?

He froze, eyes snapping open. On the bed, Roman groaned, shifting in his sleep. With a hiss of pain, Deceit drew his leg from the chair and stood as best as he could, supporting himself along the bed frame as he stepped up to Roman’s side.

Roman curled tighter into himself, a small, sad noise escaping from his lips. Deceit lowered himself onto the bed, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst as Roman’s eyes fluttered open. He caught his bearings for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, pain filling his eyes…

And then his gaze fell onto Deceit.

“Wh — what a-are you doing here?” he asked, and his voice shattered and fell into pieces between them. There was no anger in his voice — but there wasn’t anything else, either, nothing but a shaky, resigned exhaustion. He didn’t move to sit up; he only tensed, as if he expected Deceit to attack.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” Deceit asked, voice as smooth as ever, even as his insides burned with doubt.

“Why are you here,” Roman said, more of a quiet statement than a question, like he’d convinced himself that he already knew the answer. He moved his gaze from Deceit’s face, gray eyes boring into a spot over his shoulder.

“To save you,” Deceit said. “To fix everything.”

A humorless laugh tumbled from Roman’s mouth, pitchy and broken in all the wrong places. He wrapped his arms around his torso and held, tight, his knuckles turning stark white against the ashy gray of his skin. “T-To fix everything?” he repeated. “You’re a bigger idiot than I am, Deceit.”

“What, no clever nickname?” Deceit shoved away the heavy dread that landed on his shoulders. Roman’s voice was…  _ not _ Roman, in the worst kind of way, a shattered, empty thing.

Roman’s breath hitched in his throat. “Get out,” he whispered, his voice a barely-there imitation of anger.

“Come now, Prince Roman,” Deceit said smoothly, and opened his mouth to say more when Roman reared his head up and stumbled from the bed. Tears glimmered like broken glass in the corners of his eyes.

“Get out!” he said again, and  _ oh, _ there was his anger, burning hot and fueled by hatred. “There is nothing here to save!” His chest heaved, his face contorted with grief, as though he was grieving the man he’d once been. Deceit pushed himself to his feet as smoothly as he could with one injured leg, and Roman threw his arms wide, laughter laced with self-loathing falling from his lips. “Do you see anything here  _ worth  _ saving?”

“No,” Deceit said, with a deadpan stare. “Thomas is so much better off without you. We don’t need you back.”

_ “Liar,” _ Roman hissed.

“Well, yes, but —” Deceit cleared his throat. His suave facade was slipping in the face of Roman’s unyielding insecurity, but he couldn’t let himself break. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, and shoved away his need to lie. “Logan is making a mess of things. Thomas is unhappy, the mindscape is crumbling, your fellow light sides are broken, and Rage is ruling it all with an iron fist. You are a prince, are you not? Go slay the villain.”

Roman laughed again, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. “I’m no prince,” he said, voice breaking. “I couldn’t even stop Logan! I-I let them all down! He was right — I’m nothing more than a failure!”

“Wow,” Deceit drawled. “Every word that just came out of your mouth is a lie. And I thought  _ I _ was the liar here. Roman —”

“Shut up,” Roman breathed, voice haggard and shaking. “Stop — stop trying to —”

“Trying to tell the truth?” Deceit finished for him. “That  _ is _ what I’m doing here, after all, and it is not exactly easy for me. Trust me —”

_ “Trust you?” _ Roman repeated with an incredulous laugh. “How can I — how can I trust  _ anyone _ anymore? I know you all hate me! And I can’t even blame you! How could anyone  _ care _ about someone like me?”

Well. At least he hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic. The thought gave Deceit little comfort as he watched Roman crumble before him, a flood of doubt spilling from his mouth, like a broken record repeating Logan’s cruel words. Deceit swallowed, shoving away the power of Roman’s room before his own doubts could eat him alive.

“Easily,” he said, as gently as his aesthetic would allow. “You are more than what Logan said you are.”

“Liar!” Roman yelled, and flung a hand out in front of him.  _ Something _ appeared in his grip. Deceit raised an eyebrow, staring at the… whatever it was. It looked like the hilt of a sword, almost, but the blade itself had been broken off, leaving only a few sharp shards of metal at the bottom.

But Roman — Roman stared at it like someone had just told him Broadway was canceled forever. His face crumpled, a sob wracking in his chest, and he curled in on himself as though he’d been stabbed, pain flashing through his tortured eyes. The hilt fell from his hand and shattered on the ground between them.

Oh, Deceit  _ definitely _ knew how to comfort someone who was crying. He watched with dawning horror as tears built in the corners of Roman’s eyes and spilled down his ashy gray cheeks. “A-Ah,” he started, suave facade slipping. “Please, ah. Do not do that?”

Roman sobbed harder. Cursing under his breath, Deceit paused to think, eyebrows furrowing. What would a light side do? What… what would  _ Patton _ do? He cleared his throat and tried to slip into the same mindset he’d used when impersonating Patton.

“Hey there, friendo,” he tried, stepping forward. “It’s gonna be okay!”

Roman stepped back, a pained noise tearing from his throat, and Deceit floundered. Okay, Patton wasn’t working. What would  _ Virgil _ do?

“Princey,” he tried again, and Roman looked up as if on instinct at “Virgil’s” voice. Deceit hesitated, biting his lip. He knew how to impersonate the  _ old _ Virgil, the one he knew, not the softened version the light sides had created. He cleared his throat, forcing as much gruff, reluctant care as he could into his voice. “You’ve gotta breathe. I’m, uh. I’m here for you. Just focus on my voice, we’ll do the 4-7-8 thing, okay?”

For a moment, it seemed to be working — but then Roman gasped, new tears pooling in his eyes. “S-Stop — stop trying to be  _ them,” _ he managed through his sobs.

He…  _ didn’t _ want the light sides? If Patton and Virgil didn’t work — and Logan certainly wouldn’t — what other options did he have? What other personas could he put on? Who could he be?

He could be himself.

The thought was so sickeningly  _ soft, _ he almost vomited right then and there. “Be yourself,” what kind of foolish  _ bullshit _ was that? He was Deceit;  _ not _ being himself was practically in the job description.

But… perhaps it was worth a shot. What would  _ he _ do?

He’d lie, he’d manipulate, he’d spout a flood of flattery and rebuild Roman’s confidence on a foundation of fabrications, and he’d leave the duct-taped approximation of “fixed” to the light sides for them to  _ truly _ fix —

He stepped forward, drawing Roman into his arms. Roman tensed at his touch, his breath hitching in his throat, but to Deceit’s great surprise, he didn’t try to pull away. Deceit lowered them both to the bed, leaning against a bedpost and allowing Roman to lean into his chest. He didn’t say a word, only held Roman as tightly as he dared as he sobbed into his chest.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, how long it took for Roman’s sobs to soften and die out, shaky breathing fading into something gentler and slower. Deceit’s skin burned wherever Roman touched him, and he never,  _ ever _ wanted it to stop.

He blinked. Where had that come from? Of course it had to stop; he was there to fix the balance and be on his slimy way. There was no use hoping (ew) that this moment of quiet would ever exit outside the tower. Roman had the light sides to return to, a family to build anew, and Deceit… well, Deceit had heat lamps and a solitary job. That had always been more than enough for him.

Why did he feel like it wouldn’t be enough anymore?

No. No, he refused to follow  _ that _ train of thought. He glanced down at Roman’s sleeping face, and sighed, gently pushing him away. Roman curled into himself the moment Deceit’s touch disappeared, uttering a string of soft, sleepy noises that Deceit didn’t have the energy to interpret. He watched the prince for a moment longer, and then limped to the armchair, settling into it as comfortably as he could.

He held himself as he fell asleep — and absolutely  _ didn’t _ miss the warmth of Roman’s touch.


	13. Sunrise, Sunset

“What’s your favorite Disney movie?”

Deceit stood by the window, twirling a shard of broken glass between his fingers as he looked out on the frozen kingdom below. The question slipped out before he could stop himself, but he couldn’t help but hope that it would prompt  _something,_  some form of conversation, something other than the silence they’d been trapped in since Roman woke up.

“What?” Roman asked, voice hoarse. He was still curled up on the bed, his eyes closed, his face streaked with dry tears.

“Come now. You  _are_  the mindscape’s resident Disney nerd, right?” Deceit turned, leaning back against the windowsill. “Which is your favorite?”

“I don’t know. The broken passion from the night before had died out, replaced with a dry, grating self-loathing. It was a far cry from the excitement Deceit had expected the topic of Disney to elicit, which disappointed him a little. If even  _Disney_  couldn’t prince back some semblance of the man Roman used to be, what could?”

He sighed. “I’m not partial to Aladdin,” he continued, if only to have something to do. Roman opened his eyes, shooting Deceit a moment’s glance. His brow furrowed.

“Figures you would, Jafar,” he muttered, and Deceit rolled his eyes, a tiny glimmer of hope building in his chest. It was a weak nickname, no wordplay involved or anything, but it was a start. He could even ignore the villainous comparison — the  _completely accurate_  villainous comparison.

“While I do  _adore_  Jafar’s slimy aesthetic,” he began, lowering himself gently into the armchair and wincing when his leg twinged in protest, “he’s not the only reason I enjoy the movie. The plot is based around lie after lie after lie! Our dear protagonist is just as, ah, ‘slimy’ as I am.”

“No, he’s not!” Roman burst out. He froze, the flare of passion dying on his tongue, and shifted to sit against the headboard, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Aladdin lied for a good cause,” he said, and his voice was still hollow, but it was the first full sentence he’d said in quite a while that didn’t involve insulting himself, so. Progress.

“Wow, so lying  _can_  be used for good? Fascinating,” Deceit deadpanned.

“That’s not what I —” Roman rolled his eyes, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “He lied for  _love.”_

“Well, can’t relate there,” Deceit said smoothly, shifting to lay sideways across the chair. He looked at Roman upside-down, an easy smirk falling into place on his face. He didn’t have to  _be himself_  after all — all he had to do was take a page out of good ol’ Virgil’s book. Nothing got Roman more heated than disagreeing with him on his precious Disney movies, after all. “‘Pure’ as his intentions might have been, you cannot deny that the movie is based around  _lies.”_

“It’s — it’s based around being yourself!” Roman said. “Despite what others may think of you! It’s about how t-there’s worth in  _everyone,_  even a ‘diamond in the rough!’”

Deceit raised an eyebrow, lifting a hand to cover his mouth in shock. “Really?” he gasped, voice thick with mock-surprise.  _“Everyone_  has worth? Even if some people don’t think so? Wow, I wonder if a moral like that could be applied to the situation at hand?”

Roman inhaled sharply, whatever retort he’d been planning dying on his tongue. He glared at a spot on the bed, face darkening, and victory blossomed in Deceit’s chest — but then he sighed, the anger fading from his face. “That doesn’t apply here,” he said. “I don’t count as a ‘someone.’ I’m not even an individual.”

Deceit fought the urge to scream. They had actually been  _getting_  somewhere! Leave it to  _Insecurity_  to bring them back to square one. “If a fictional character can count as an individual enough for you to debate his self-worth, so can you.”

Roman laughed humorlessly. “Bold of you to assume I have self-worth.”

Deceit sighed. “Roman —”

“You wanna know the difference between me and Aladdin?” Roman cut him off, throwing his arms out to the sides. “He has redeeming qualities!”

“Really,” Deceit deadpanned. “You’re saying the man who lied to practically everyone he met,  _stole_  on a regular basis, hurt the genie, manipulated the woman he ‘loved’ and put the  _entire city of Agrabah and possibly the whole world_ in danger has more redeeming qualities than you? That’s a laugh and a half.”

“He owned up to it!” Roman cried. “He made mistakes, sure, but he worked to redeem himself! He fixed the mess he’d made! I’ve never —”

 _“Yes you have!”_  Deceit yelled. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. “You’re telling me you’ve never made amends for your past mistakes? You’ve never attempted to, say, apologize to and include a certain ostracized side after you realized the way you were treating him was wrong? You’ve never worked to redeem yourself in the eyes of those you care about?”

Roman opened and closed his mouth again and again, fighting to respond. Deceit pushed on before he could. “It is in my nature to know the difference between lies and truth,” he said, with a pointed stare. “You have worth. That is not a lie.”

In the sunset’s glow, the tears gathering at the corners of Roman’s eyes seemed to sparkle. Deceit opened his mouth to say more, and then froze, his eyes widening. He whirled around, a grin growing on his face, hope blossoming in his chest.

The sun was setting.

“...Deceit?” Roman managed, voice thick and broken, and Deceit couldn’t bring himself to respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight before him. The wind was blowing, the trees were moving, clouds glided slowly through the sky — and the sun was setting. Time had jerked back into motion, which meant the Imagination realm was regaining some semblance of normalcy, which meant he was getting through to Roman, which meant —

“What’s going on?” Roman joined him at the window, eyebrows furrowing as he looked out at the kingdom he’d created. Deceit laughed before he could stop himself, relief coursing through the noise.

“Time is working again,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “It’s working! You’re — you’re listening to me!”

“What?” Roman stepped back, shaking his head. “No, I’m not!”

“You are! I’m so proud of you!” He froze, blinking. In his excitement at the prospect of getting closer to his end-goal, it had just… slipped out. A genuine compliment. It tasted strange on his tongue. Roman gasped softly, a million emotions crossing his face at once.

“Y-You —” He held his sash, not meeting Deceit’s gaze. “You shouldn’t be.”

He sat back on the bed, drawing his knees back up to his chest, and dread settled in Deceit’s stomach. What if time stopped working again? He watched the outside carefully, eyes narrowed, but the trees still rustled in the wind and the sun still set, painting the gray sky in shades of monochrome.

“And yet, I am,” Deceit said, the bitter taste of truth clogging his throat. He sank into the armchair, never tearing his eyes from the setting sun. “Funny how that works.”

Roman didn’t respond. Silence fell over the tower, and for a moment, Deceit thought that that would be the end of their conversation, and resigned himself to more empty quiet. But then Roman cleared his throat.

“What is your opinion on… Lilo and Stitch?” he asked.

An easy grin fell onto Deceit’s face. “Ah, Stitch. The epitome of chaotic evil bastardry. I’m  _not_  a fan.”

“Are you kidding? Stitch is totally chaotic neutral!”


	14. I See Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall!! thank u so much for all the kind compliments, ur feeding the gremlin inside that craves validation,,, love u all
> 
> ive put myself on a strict schedule for this fic, so (as long as i can follow it), there should be a new chapter every friday! ill probably post more on other days, too, but i want to at least make sure to post one a week. 
> 
> hope u enjoy! :)

Deceit had never really  _been_  in the Imagination before.

Sure, he’d bent his own corner of the mindscape to his will enough times that it, too, could be considered part of the Imagination, and he’d briefly visited on occasion when his dastardly plans called for it — but he’d never spent the time to really  _look,_  to  _exist_  in whatever fantastic place Roman had created. He’d always had a mission, a purpose, an end-goal too pressing to spend time  _smelling the roses_  or whatever.

But now… now he had time.

It didn’t take long after the sunset for Roman to fall asleep again, leaving Deceit alone in the silence once more. He tried, for a long time, to follow suit, but he couldn’t stop staring at Roman for long enough to actually sleep. Their conversation had been…

Well, it had been a lot of strange, confusing things that he did not have time to dwell on. His thoughts were already firing at a mile a minute — a swirl of  _that was fun, that was good, that was so much more than you’ve ever, ever had before —_  and he couldn’t quite get them to shut up. It didn’t help that his heart, the foolish, traitorous thing, seemed to have forgotten how to work without skipping a beat every time his gaze landed on Roman’s face.

He needed to get away, somehow. If only for a moment. But where could he go? There was no way down, and even if there was, he couldn’t leave without Roman. Without down, only up remained — so, after a few experimental stretches to test how well his leg had healed, his hoisted himself through the hole in the ceiling.

Things seemed… distant, up on the roof. Quiet. He couldn’t see the patchwork copy-paste pattern of the broken realm in the darkness of night, but the light of the stars washed over his skin, untangling the knot of worries that had taken up residence in his lungs. He let out a breath, dangling his legs over the edge, and tilted his head back.

He’d never been in the Imagination like this; quietly, softly, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. When everything had been fixed, he’d come back more often. See what wonders Roman could create when he wasn’t broken.

He shook his head, laughing humorlessly. No, no, that couldn’t happen. Roman’s tentative friendship — or whatever, whatever it was, this odd tangle of feelings and glances and thoughts he couldn’t stop — wouldn’t last any longer than it took to get him back to normal. He’d go back to being the Prince, heroic, chivalrous, brilliant in every sense of the word.

And Deceit? He’d go back to being the exact opposite of that.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the roof, and he narrowed his eyes. This was so… so  _foolish._  He was a ruthless, manipulative bastard. These thoughts had no place in his head; he had no time for them, and he certainly didn’t have time to dwell on the aftermath, the reality hurtling towards him. It was what it was. There was no room for regret in his line of work.

He leaned backward, falling with a sigh onto the cold roof tiles. The sky above him twinkled with too many stars to name, shining through a sea of velvety black and washing the world in their cold light. He lifted a hand, lazily tracing his finger from star to star, carving out his own constellations when he couldn’t find any he knew. He looped a snake through the sky and called it his own, and in doing so felt a little less alone.

He hesitated, his hand curling and falling to his chest, an awful feeling lodging in his lungs. What would become of his real snakes while he was away? What if he never got back to them? As much as he hated to admit it, Logan was a formidable opponent. The damage he’d caused… how could Deceit ever expect to truly fix it? Sure, Roman might be easy — but Patton had never trusted him, not once, and he’d be a walk in the park compared to Virgil, who hated his guts. If he couldn’t restore the light sides to power, he couldn’t go  _home._

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He looped a finger around the chain of his cloak and tugged nervously, panic spiking through his lungs. Admitting he was in over his head wasn’t something he did often, but…

But  _god,_  how in the name of lying was he supposed to manage this?

Deceit twisted his hand in the fabric of his shirt, trying — and failing, failing,  _failing —_  to step back from the thoughts buzzing like wasps in his mind. They weren’t his — he’d never,  _ever_  dwell this much on things so far beyond his control, he’d never doubt himself, he’d ~~never~~ hate himself so viscerally. It was simply the power of Insecurity’s realm.

Self-loathing sank like lead into his bones, weighing him down into the roof. Thoughts swirled through his mind —  _not good enough,_ they screamed with every frantic beat of his heart, _not good enough, not good enough, not good not good not good —_  and he couldn’t keep them at bay, foolish as he knew they were. He didn’t need to be  _‘good’_  to get the job done. Besides, being  _good_  was stupid. Morally-gray villainy was far more fun.

Or, at least, it  _had_  been.

He sighed, eyebrows drawing together. These thoughts were not at all helpful. The power of Insecurity’s realm, coupled with the overwhelming  _goodness_  (ew) of the Light Side of the mindscape… it was almost too much for his wonderfully dreadful aesthetic to bear. A change of heart just did not work with the job he had to do.

Eyes slipping shut, he tried to breathe, forcing the insecure thoughts to quiet down. He pushed his usual thoughts back into place — dastardly schemes and suave one-liners and what sort of toys he could conjure for his precious baby snakes — and relaxed somewhat, a sense of normalcy returned. He could do this. He could do this,  _and_ keep his personality intact.

“Deceit?”

He jumped at the sudden voice, eyes flying open, heart kicking into overdrive. Roman peered at him through the darkness, his body halfway through the hole, his scale-freckles glimmering in the moonlight. Deceit placed a hand over his heart, shoving away the adrenaline racing through his veins.

“H-Hello, Roman,” he said, and inwardly screamed, because that was  _far_ too soft,  _what happened to maintaining an evil aesthetic?_  He shook away his thoughts, quirking a brow. “You  _shouldn’t_  be sleeping.”

Roman didn’t answer. He pulled himself onto the roof, wrapping his arms around himself as he sat beside Deceit. Deceit watched him for a moment, eyebrow still raised, head tilted as he waited for Roman to say  _something_  — but he just sat there, silent, face raised to the stars.

Deceit hesitated, a million words dying on his tongue. Quips, compliments, conversation starters… they all perished before they could live, in the face of a prince bathed in starlight. So instead he laid back down, and Roman followed suit, and for a long while all that could be heard was Roman’s shaky breathing and Deceit’s own frantic heartbeat.

He folded his hands across his stomach, and the quiet sank deep into his bones as his eyes roamed the heavens above. He stole glances at Roman whenever he was sure he wouldn’t be spotted, and each time came away more confused than before.  _Something_  stirred in his lungs — something fluttery and strange and really not enjoyable at all, like his chest had been infested with moths. He  _hated_  moths. Nasty little things.

“Did you design this sky?” he asked, after a long, long beat of silence, if only to have something to distract him from the moths. Roman blinked as if waking from a trance, brows furrowing.

“W-What?”

“Did you design this sky?” he asked again. “I was under the impression that you created everything in this realm.”

“I… No,” Roman said. “No, I-I didn’t make this place, I just, appeared here after —” His breath hitched in his throat and Deceit cursed himself to the wind. Sure, remind him of the disaster that got them into this mess in the first place,  _that_  was a good idea. He needed to change his tactics.

He lifted a gloved hand, tracing the stars with his fingertip. “That’s Salazar,” he said. “The snake.”

Roman’s gaze followed his finger, confusion swirling in his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked, and Deceit smiled at the hint of curiosity in his voice.

“I’m not making my own constellations,” he said, never moving his gaze from the sky above them. Roman made a small, confused noise, and he continued. “If you didn’t design this  _magnificent_  view, then there are no set constellations. It is a clean slate. A… celestial game of connect-the-dots, if you will.”

He chanced a glance at Roman, and hope blossomed at the sight. A tiny hint of inspiration had broken through the gray clouds painted across Roman’s face, shining through his eyes like all the stars’ light had been gathered inside. “...Salazar?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation, retracing the constellation with his gaze.

“Yes,” Deceit said. “Obviously, I hate snakes. I don’t have two waiting for me at home, and they don’t deserve to be immortalized in the sky.”

Roman stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking to Deceit’s face and then back to the sky. Slowly, he lifted his hand. “What’s your other snake’s name.”

“Arbok.”

Roman’s hand moved carefully through the air, tracing from one star to the next, and Deceit followed his fingertip, watching as he wove a second snake into the sky beside the first. “Arbok and Salazar,” he said, “the twin snakes.”

“Very good, Roman,” Deceit said smoothly, pride blooming in his chest. Roman was  _creating!_  Perhaps bringing him back to normal wouldn’t be as difficult as he feared. “Shall we make more?”

It was slow going. Roman wasn’t exactly keen on sharing his ideas, wonderful though they were, and when he did, they weren’t quite what Deceit had been expecting. A mouse, a failed hero; ideas drowned in doubt, reflections of the prince’s own broken soul. He suggested a dragon with pain in his voice, and a jagged sword above it.

But however insecure his ideas were, they were ideas nonetheless, and Deceit counted that as a victory. Soon enough, he began to offer stories with the constellations. A unicorn who lost his way, and ended up trapped among the stars, became the centerpiece of their hand-woven sky. Deceit understood the significance. He didn’t mention it.

But then, Roman’s hand stilled in midair as he painted his own crest through the stars. His face darkened, eyebrows furrowing, fingers curling back towards his palm as he lowered his hand to his chest. He let out a long, shaking breath, and concern settled on Deceit’s face.

“Roman?” he asked, and Roman didn’t answer right away, his expression too heavy to read.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “I thought I already told you,” he said. “The sky is a blank slate here. We can —”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Roman said quickly. “I-I mean… why are you… helping me? Why would you put yourself in danger, and — and get yourself  _trapped_  here, just to help someone like me?”

Oh. Deceit paused, choosing his words carefully. Roman was vulnerable, open and afraid; however Deceit responded now had to assuage his worries rather than further them. “You’re a needed part of Thomas,” he said slowly, forcing truth into his words so they wouldn’t twist beyond his control. “I am here to restore the balance. It’s as simple as that.”

“But it’s not!” Roman said, wrapping his fingers around his sash and holding tight. “That — that  _can’t_  be it. You’re  _Deceit_ , you always have some ulterior motive. You’re a dark side! How do I know you’re not just working with Lo — with  _him,_  building me back up so he can destroy me all over again?”

Deceit scoffed. Leave it to the monochromatic prince to have such black-and-white thinking. “That idiot destroyed every ounce of balance in the mindscape. Seeing as keeping the balance is part of my  _job,_  I obviously couldn’t care less about it, and I’m not here to bring things back to normal.” He paused a moment, waiting, ensuring Roman untangled the true meaning of his words. “I wouldn’t work with him if my life depended on it. Trust me.”

“How can I?” Roman snapped. “How can I possibly — I mean,  _every_  interaction we had involved you  _manipulating_  me in some way! Every compliment back then was a lie! How is now any different? How can I trust anything you say?”

“Fine. Don’t trust me.” Deceit sat up, ignoring the way his chest squeezed at Roman’s words. “I don’t need your trust. I need your attention. Don’t trust me, but  _listen_  nonetheless. I would not have put myself through every trial of this hell without a worthy end-goal, and hurting you does not qualify as worthy. I would not have faced a fucking  _dragon_  for nothing! I am here to convince you of the  _truth_  — and that totally  _isn’t_  painful for me, by the way!”

Roman sat up too, a million emotions flashing across his face. “Truth is subjective,” he said. “Even if you are here because you  _think_  Thomas needs me, you’re wrong! If Thomas needed me, Logan wouldn’t have — he wouldn’t have —”

His voice broke, shattering into a million pieces between them. “Oh, is Logan a beacon of truth?” Deceit asked, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that he was incapable of being wrong. My mistake.”

Roman shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Oh, wait, he  _is_  capable of being wrong! Logan did what he  _thought_  was right — what Rage convinced him was right. Obviously, that makes it truly right.” Deceit set his hand on the roof and leaned forward, and Roman leaned back, tear-filled eyes widening. “Thomas does need you. But that’s not the only reason I’m here. I am here because you’re a worthy,  _important_  part of the mindscape. Because you’re an  _incredible_  individual. Roman, I’m here because you’re a  _good person,_  and even I could see that you did not deserve what  _he_  did to you.”

He nearly choked on the bitterness of the truth coursing through his words, powerful enough that it hung in the air between them, buzzing in the silence that followed. Roman trembled, eyes wide, mouth agape, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks — he bit his lip, brows furrowing, grip tightening around his sash as he held it like a lifeline —

And then a sob burst from his mouth, shattered glass sparkling in the starlight, and he fell forward, burying his face in Deceit’s chest. Deceit froze, tensing at his touch, his breath hitching in his throat. He’d hugged Roman before. Why did this feel so different, so strange, so  _overwhelming?_

Because this time, Roman had initiated it.

Error 404: Deceit.exe has stopped working. He stammered, his words lost in a sea of rushing thoughts, his arms hovering around Roman, hesitant to touch. He stared, eyes wide, barely even daring to breathe as Roman sobbed into his shirt.

“A-Ah —” He closed his mouth into a thin, unsure line, slowly lowering his arms to drape around Roman’s shoulders. He rubbed Roman’s back comfortingly, and the swarm of moths threatened to climb up his throat and spew out his feelings for all the world to see. “There… there?”

Roman made a strange, strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His arms tightened around Deceit’s middle. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever — until Roman’s sobbing quieted down and he wasn’t shaking quite so much, until he was able to lift his head from Deceit’s chest and look at him.

“S-Sorry,” he said, his voice a barely-there whisper. Their faces were close — so close,  _too_  close and not close enough, and Deceit could see the flecks of bright gold swirled into the deep browns of Roman’s eyes and thought, rather foolishly, that he could easily drown in them. “I ruined your shirt.”

The realization hit him slowly, gently, and Deceit lifted a hand to cradle the side of Roman’s face, leaning in closer. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Roman leaned into the touch. “Your eyes are brown,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Your eyes are brown!” Deceit said, and his voice was full to bursting with hope. “You were completely black and white, Roman. Your eyes have color again!”

Roman lifted a hand to his eye, fingers gently brushing against the corner and coming away wet with tears. “T-They do?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

Deceit smiled. Brushing his thumb tenderly along Roman’s cheek, across the beautifully shining scales. “It means… you’re going to be alright,” he said, his voice ever-so-soft, and he knew then that he wasn’t a fool to think he could drown in Roman’s eyes, because no one, not even a devilishly evil fellow such as himself, could possibly withstand their power. “It means…”

And he froze, a new realization hitting him like a freight train. What was he  _doing?_  He drew his hand back, clearing his throat and turning away, and Roman jerked back, blinking like he’d just been broken from a trance. Deceit coughed, the human side of his face turning bright red.

“Right, well, ha —” He laughed awkwardly, scrambling to his feet. “We should! Get some sleep!”

Roman didn’t move. He scrubbed away his tears with his sleeve, tilting his head back towards the stars above. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hand, tracing his finger through the stars. Deceit watched, following the pattern he traced.

In the center of the sky, Roman’s logo glowed.


	15. Hand In My Hand (And You Promised To Never Let Go)

Deceit found himself standing at the window often in the days that followed.

His thoughts swirled and built, a flood of  _ feelings _ in his mind, and it was all  _ far _ too chaotic for his liking. Between conversations with Roman, he should have been planning ahead for the next two sides, predicting what their twisted rooms would have in store for him.

And what was he doing instead?

He was thinking about  _ Roman’s eyes. _

This was so unbecoming. Obviously, Roman had regained his role as romance at some point, and as such, his room had begun to sway Deceit’s thoughts. There was no other explanation for his heart’s bitter betrayal. 

He just hoped they left when he did. He couldn’t exactly regain his title as Supreme Morally-Gray Leader of the mindscape if he was weighed down with disgusting,  _ romantic _ thoughts. There was simply no time in an anti-hero’s life for such things.

Hence, the window. It was easier to study the kingdom than focus on his confusion emotions. He watched as color returned to the realm — in the trees, first, gray giving ways to soft greens and earthy browns, bleeding down into the grass and the sky and the world beyond, painted villages and crystalline lakes in an array of bright colors. He tracked the path from the tower to the mountain a hundred times over, committing it to memory and hoping,  _ wishing  _ to walk it soon, with Roman by his side.

The door would be waiting for them at the top — and beyond it, the next side he’d have to save. 

_ Patton. _ Morality, the one who  _ always _ believed the best of everyone. Obviously, Deceit wasn’t included in ‘everyone.’ Once upon a time, Patton’s entire personality had revolved around a lie, and though his anger was well-concealed, Deceit could tell that he’d never quite forgiven him for the conflicts of those days. Whatever he’d become, whatever Logan had twisted him into, would be even less likely to listen.

But, well. He’d be more likely to listen than Virgil, at least. Besides, Roman would be there to help, to convince Patton where Deceit couldn’t. And then, with Patton on their side… hopefully, that would be enough to help Virgil.

And then — then, it was on to Logan himself. Just thinking about it made Deceit’s stomach turn. Bringing the broken light sides back to their former glory was hard enough; how was he supposed to bring back the one who’d shattered them in the first place? As much as he hated to admit it, Logic  _ was _ a light side, and he was just as vital to returning the balance as the others. 

But convincing him to step away from his Rage-fueled warpath wasn’t going to be easy. And how would he ever convince the others to work with him again?

And, of course, there was Rage himself, who wouldn’t give up without a fight. He’d finally obtained the power he’d always dreamed of, at the expense of literally everything that made Thomas  _ Thomas. _ Deceit couldn’t just re-hide him now that Thomas knew he existed; he’d have to subdue him, somehow, just enough that everyone else could work around him.

He sighed heavily, leaning against the windowsill and resting his chin in his hand. He’d have to burn that bridge when he got to it. Oh, there were  _ so many _ bridges he’d have to burn! He couldn’t remain buddy-buddy with the light sides when this mess had been cleaned. So many ties to sever, so many relationships he couldn’t become attached to…

Of course, it made no difference to him whether he could remain friends with the light sides. He didn’t care either way. Things would go back to normal, and that would be more than enough for him.

With another sigh, he leaned his torso out through the window, closing his eyes and letting the sunlight wash over his skin. He pulled off his hand and the wind ran its fingers through his hair. He was becoming too caught up in the future, the what-ifs that waited for him there, while the present yearned for his attention. His first priority was Roman.

He stole a glance behind him, at Roman, asleep on the bed. Immediately, that  _ awful _ fluttering feeling invaded his chest, and he turned as though the sight had burned him, his nose crinkling in disgust. Why wouldn’t these thoughts leave him alone? His hand curled around the edge of the windowsill, tighter, tighter, until his fingers began to ache.

It all felt so… precarious. Like if he allowed himself to slip for even a moment, allowed this strange, horrible  _ affection _ to corrupt him, everything would fall apart. He stood above a gaping chasm, atop a tightrope woven from all he knew to be  _ right. _ Beneath him was a sea of wrong.

He couldn’t fall.

Because if he fell, then what? What would become of the mindscape? What would become of  _ Thomas? _ The light sides were important, sure, and the dark sides had their uses, but they were all  _ blind, _ each and every one of them. He was the only one who’d ever thought to take off the blindfold. He saw things for what they were, and he used that to his advantage.

But if he allowed the blindfold to take hold once more, if he willingly turned away from reality…

The blindfold wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

He was the gray area. He had to  _ remain _ the gray area. Too light, and his purpose would fade. Too dark, and he’d end up just like Logan. No, no, he had to stay balanced atop his tightrope of rights and wrongs and wanted and needs, with no safety net below to catch him if he fell.

He sighed, resting his arms against the windowsill. A song lilted, unbidden, through his thoughts as he turned his hat over in his hands, running his fingers over the brim. He began to hum along, if only to have something else to focus on, something beyond his turmoil. Oh, how he  _ loved _ tightropes.

The tune swelled in his chest, and he rested his chin in his hand, music swirling through the air around him. He didn’t hear as Roman stirred behind him, blinking sleep from his eyes, and didn’t notice as he climbed to his feet and stepped up beside him until he slipped his hand into Deceit’s.

“Hand in my hand and you promise to never let go,” Roman sang, his voice quiet and unsure but beautiful all the same. Deceit tensed at his touch, and almost pulled away, but  _ something  _ in Roman’s expression stopped him. He stilled, brows furrowing. Roman wasn’t looking at him — rather, he gazed at the kingdom below, brown eyes locked on the mountain.

“Wh… what are you doing?” Deceit asked slowly. Roman’s gaze slipped to Deceit’s face, and he shrugged, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Singing with you,” he said simply, and his soft voice wrapped around Deceit in a too-warm embrace as he continued the song. Before he knew what was happening, Roman had taken his other hand — and then they were moving, slowly at first, orbiting around each other with hands clasped tightly together. Roman spun with a sad sort of grace and Deceit struggled to keep up, hands shaking, eyes wide, heart forgetting how to beat. Soon, his own voice joined Roman’s — softer, deeper, the two tunes twirling around each other to mirror the ones who sang them.

And then they were spinning, spinning, Roman’s hands tightening around his, the song swelling and ground louder, louder, louder — one hand moved to cradle his head, another behind his back, and their legs moved with a mind of their own, twisting, twirling — and then —

And then —

And then time itself stopped and held its breath.

They stood, silent, panting, Roman above Deceit and Deceit above the floor, held in balance by Roman’s strong arms, his own arms through around Roman’s neck. He only had a moment to take inventory of the situation —  _ there was passion in his eyes and something deeper, something more, something shining in its newness and taking Deceit’s breath away —  _ before they were leaning in, closer, closer, closer — foreheads bumping together, eyes slipping shut, hot breath brushing against Deceit’s face —

_ No. _

With a choked gasp, Deceit shoved away and stumbled backwards, a high-pitched laugh tumbling jaggedly from his mouth as his heart kicked into overdrive. Roman recoiled, hands wrapping around his sash, his heavy breathing giving way to something shakier, something broken.

“I — I thought…”

“That was! Great! Haha!” Deceit said,  _ far _ too loudly, the words spilling unfiltered from his mouth. “Good practice! You’re! Becoming yourself again! Great! Glad I could help, uh — friend! Friendo! Pal! Bud!”

“Deceit,” Roman whispered, and Deceit used to wonder what heartbreak would feel like but now, now he wishes he didn’t have a heart at all, anything to stop the shattering emptiness in his chest.

“Ha! Would you look at the time! I have to —” In a blind panic, he climbed onto the bed and leaped towards the hole, yanking himself up and over and out, and he stumbled away from it, his breath hitching in his throat. Roman didn’t follow.

The tightrope shook beneath the weight of what he’d almost done — what he’d  _ already _ done, how badly he’d messed up. He knotted his hands in his hair, stomach lurching, face burning. The rights and wrongs and wants and needs tugged at him from the chasm below, too strong,  _ too strong — _

Deceit fell off the tightrope.


	16. That Would Be Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooo my schedule immediately fell to pieces,,,, sorry about that?
> 
> honestly tho, its not my fault. i hurt my wrist pretty badly at work, and writing hurt like hell, so i couldn't fix up the next update to put out,,, hopefully ill be able to avoid any further injuries to actually stay on track
> 
> but knowing myself i highly doubt it
> 
> just a short chapter this time bc my wrist is still a bit sore and i dont wanna push myself but,,,, i hope u enjoy !!! :)
> 
> sorry again for the delay tho,,,

_How could he be so stupid?_

Don’t get attached. Such a simple demand. Don’t let yourself long for something that can never be, don’t get caught up in the now and believe there could be anything beyond it. __Don’t get attached.__

They’d danced. Hand in hand, arm in arm, wrapped together so tightly that he’d almost felt like a person, like someone worth loving, and they’d leaned in closer, closer, __closer,__  snared in a trap of his own creation, __closer closer closer —__

Deceit sank to his knees, fingers scraping against the roof as he curled them into tight, shaking fists. His face __burned,__  and he’d never felt so much pain in all his life — shattered glass scattered through his chest, through his lungs, climbing up his throat in waves of agony. He’d gone too far, been too soft, too kind, and now Roman —

He swore under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His old __friend__  the blindfold had returned, and he __let__  it, let himself be taken in by touch and sound and warm, brown eyes, and a smile meant just for him. He hissed, shaking his head sharply.

And in his mind’s eye, Roman stood, silent, shaking — pain filled his eyes and he whispered, __breathed__  Deceit’s name like it was fire and light and hope and agony, like it __hurt__  him when Deceit pulled away.

But he had to pull away. He had a job to do. He wasn’t there to personally befriend the prince — only to work with him until he believed he __could__  be befriended, until Insecurity gave way to Creativity and a bit of the balance had been restored. He had no duty to deal with Roman’s feelings for him. The prince was broken, lost, confused, latching onto the first person to show him kindness. It meant nothing. It was __nothing.__

He lifted his head into the wind, and imagined the blindfold flying from his face, captured in its grasp. He wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in this — this __foolishness,__  this awful, all-encompassing __hope__  and __sorrow__  that threatened to drown him, bury him alive. The power of Roman’s room, combined with the effects of the light side, was clouding his judgment. He couldn’t let these thoughts that weren’t even his ruin his ability to return the balance.

No. No, he’d compose himself and face Roman again, and act as though nothing had happened, and continue to shape the prince into an approximation of right, and then he’d move onto Patton and Virgil and leave them alone to fix each other.

And then…

And then he’d go home. To darkness and deception, to heat lamps and weighted blankets in place of warm, strong arms, to silence and emptiness. He’d go home, and he’d __thrive__  just as he always had, a creature of darkness returning to familiarity and leaving everything else behind.

The light sides would become a family again, a beacon of warmth and light and __hope__  so bright it made his stomach turn. Crisis aborted, Thomas would return to what he did best, pick up the pieces Logan left behind. They would be fine.

And Deceit would reign back in the Others and ensure Rage couldn’t get out again, and life would return to normal.

And Deceit would be alone.

He sighed, buzzing panic giving way to sharp clarity. He shoved through the rights and wrongs and wants and needs and grasped the tightrope in one hand. Trembling, aching, he yanked himself back up and began the balancing act anew.

He’d be alone.

But Thomas would be happy. The balance would be restored — and the only people in the mindscape worthy of happiness would find it. He’d be alone, but he could watch them thrive, and take small comfort in knowing that he’d helped, that he’d been truly __good__ , if only for a moment.

And that… that would be enough.

 


	17. Let It Out

It was far too quiet after that.

Something had shifted between them, something that never should have been there in the first place, and Deceit didn’t know if he preferred the burn of the prelude or the silent sting of the aftermath. Roman’s improvement stagnated. The tower — which had begun to feel like something that could, under certain circumstances and never out loud, be called a home — became a prison once more, and Deceit itched for release, itched to escape the tension he’d caused.

But they didn’t speak of it. They never addressed it. An idle conversation here, a bout of banter there — but the __dance__  and its byproducts were never mentioned. They danced around the issue as they’d danced around each other; slowly but purposefully, spiraling deeper and deeper. Roman stayed distant, cold.

And Deceit shed his desire to flatter and flirt until he got his way as easily as a snake sheds its skin. He’d delivered the __wrong__  message, the first time around, but now he knew that manipulating Roman into his good graces wasn’t necessary. There was no reason to address any of what had occurred.

But as the days went on, his certainty plummeted. His progress with Roman had slowed to an agonizing crawl. Why oh __why__  had he decided to deal with the romantic side first? __Alone?__  It made all the sense in the world that Roman had latched onto his affection after such a dreadful ordeal. Why hadn’t he thought to go to Patton first, or Virgil? Someone equipped to deal with this sort of mess, someone who could field Roman’s __feelings__  without tearing everything apart in the process?

But, well. He __hadn’t__  thought to go to them first. He considered Roman the easiest — and in a way, he was, but only if Deceit set him up for heartbreak later on. He was a bastard, but he wasn’t __cruel,__  and he certainly wasn’t an idiot; building Roman’s self-confidence back on a foundation of romance was a surefire way to ensure he crumbled when Deceit had to leave.

But regardless, he had to build it on __something.__  Perhaps… as much as it pained him, as much as the mere thought made his stomach roll, perhaps he’d finally found a scenario where __honesty__  was the best policy.

Which, really. Hadn’t the universe punished him enough?

They had to talk about it. Someday, somehow, they had to address what had happened between them and move on. Deceit — who had never been one for dealing in absolutes — had to set some boundaries in order to move forward.

“Roman,” he said, one maddeningly silent morning, when he felt they’d avoided the issue for long enough. “We need to talk.”

“Ah… about what?” Roman asked, and Deceit could see the wariness in his eyes. He already knew what. Deceit sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“You know exactly what, Roman,” Deceit said, and Roman shrank into himself. His eyes had lost some of their shine; the rest of him was still as black-and-white as ever. “We cannot continue to ignore what happened. We need to be —” He choked, and forcefully cleared his throat. “Honest. We need to be __honest.”__

“Why?” Roman asked, shaking his head. “What good will it do to talk about it? It was a mistake. Just a stupid mistake. It doesn’t matter.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. Inwardly, he screamed. Why had he almost __flinched__  at the venom in Roman’s words? What was happening to him? “Oh, you’re right, it __doesn’t__  matter,” he said, as smoothly as he could manage. “You’ve been doing so __wonderfully__  ever since __it__  happened. Clearing the air between us won’t help __at all.”__

Roman glared, fingers curling around his sash. “It won’t help,” he said, more forcefully than before. “It won’t help because nothing happened, nothing important.”

“But something __did__  happen!” Deceit burst out, standing. “Roman, whatever that was, it was __not nothing.__  We almost — we —” He cut off with a groan, his face impossibly warm. God, he __hated__  it there. How did Roman survive in a part of the mindscape that toyed so badly with their emotions?

“Stop!” Roman stood too, running a hand frantically through his hair. “Stop acting like it matters! It doesn’t, okay? I was __confused!__ It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Roman —”

__“Stop!”_ _

“Do you have feelings for me?”

And everything froze. The world itself forgot how to breathe. Roman reeled backward as though he’d been struck, his face darkening, cheeks dusted with a grayscale approximation of a blush. A million emotions crossed his face at once and Deceit regretted, regretted having a mouth, regretted __everything__  that had led to this moment. They stood and stared at each other from across the tightrope, and Deceit’s heart froze in his chest.

“No.”

The world tilted.

“Absolutely not,” Roman continued, voice pitched and furious, as though the mere thought offended him. “I already told you. I. Was. __Confused.__  Nothing important happened between us, and nothing ever will.”

“Good,” Deceit said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” And he smiled, satisfied, as his insides crumbled to dust, as veins of ice shot through his lungs and stopped him from breathing. It was what he wanted to hear, more than anything — that he hadn’t messed up as badly as he thought, that he hadn’t manipulated Roman into something he couldn’t undo.

He refused to check Roman’s words. He didn’t want to know if he was lying or not.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words died the moment he saw Roman’s expression. Equal parts fury and devastation and drowned in too many other emotions to name, it flickered across his face for a moment or two before settling on a cold, broken look.

Deceit’s blood ran cold. Perhaps he’d been too harsh, too cold. He’d forgotten Roman was still Insecurity. What if this set them back to square one? What if —

But then Roman’s expression darkened, and he turned, striding over to the wall. “I’m done with this,” he said, his voice shaking but still impossibly firm. “You cannot fix me. You cannot fix the mess he made. Go home, Deceit.”

And he placed a hand against the wall, and it crumbled at his touch, bricks flying through the air and reforming into a great, arching bridge, which spanned the length of the briar patch and landed on the other side. Deceit gaped, eyes wide. After all this time… freedom, finally, was in his grasp.

And he couldn’t take it.

“I can’t,” he said.

“You can and you will,” Roman replied instantly. “Go back home to your little dark friends and leave me here to rot! The world out there doesn’t need me anymore.”

“I can’t!” Deceit said again. “My ‘little dark friends’ __won’t let me back in.__  Logan kicked me out.” His voice cracked and he sneered to cover it up, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. It still hurt like hell, to be separated from his home, from everything he’d ever known, but he’d be __damned__ if he let Roman know that.

For a moment, understanding flickered across Roman’s expression, but it was gone in an instant. “Fine,” he snapped. “Then go live in the In-Between for all I care! Just get away from __me.”__

Now it was Deceit’s turn to be angry. __Furious.__  He hadn’t spent all this time working against every instinct he’d ever had to bring Roman back to the light __only to be kicked out again.__  Roman wanted to see him as a villain? Sure. He knew how to play that role.

“Why?” he sneered. “So you can hide away in your little broken kingdom like the __coward__  you are? So you can pretend everything is __fine__  while Thomas crashes and burns? Some Prince you are.”

Roman took a step back, unbridled hurt flashing across his face. It seemed, whatever he’d been expecting, he hadn’t expected this. “That’s —”

“That’s __what?__  Go ahead, Roman, try to defend yourself like you couldn’t defend your family. Do you know where Patton and Virgil are right now? Do you know how much they’re __hurting?__  You paint me as the villain, go right ahead, but don’t forget that I am the __only person in the entire mindscape__  who has actually tried to do something about this mess!”

He was breathing heavily, the human side of his face blazing a bright, passionate crimson. “I don’t care what you think of me. I __refuse__  to allow you to sit back and pretend __everything is fine__  while the world crumbles around us! While __Thomas__  crumbles! You remember Thomas, right? The one we’re supposed to __protect?”__

“Thomas —”

“Needs you,” Deceit cut in, finishing Roman’s sentence for him. “Thomas needs you, __and__  he needs me. Whether you listen to me or not makes absolutely no difference to me — but I will __not__  allow you to hurt Thomas with your inaction. If I am leaving, you are too.”

Silence fell over the two. Deceit drew himself up to his full height — which, admittedly, was not that much — and glared resolutely, face set and stony. Roman blinked, his anger melting away in favor of something more vulnerable, something horrified.

“You’re — you’re right,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “I-I didn’t even… I didn’t even __think__  about Patton and Virgil, I — how __could__  I —”

“Oh __good,__  now’s the __perfect__  time to fall back into a pit of self-loathing,” Deceit deadpanned. “You want some advice, your highness? Wait to break down until __after__  the battle has been won. It’s the healthiest thing to do.”

“That doesn’t sound very —”

Deceit didn’t stay to hear the rest of Roman’s sentence. With a sharp nod, he started down the bridge, and hoped against all hope that Roman would follow. At least, it seemed, he’d finally gotten through to Roman, finally impressed upon him the severity of their situation. Whether he’d been too harsh or not…

No. No, he hadn’t been too harsh. Roman __needed__  a kick in the royal ass to get moving. Who knows how long they could’ve been stuck there otherwise? He tilted his chin up and clasped his hands behind his back, and tried not to think about all the loose ends he had yet to tie up.

He was halfway across the bridge when he heard Roman’s footsteps behind him.


	18. For Forever

They walked in silence for a long time.

Deceit was growing really sick of silence. Even the dark side of the mindscape had never been this overwhelmingly quiet — there was always music, or conversations, or a far-off Other practicing an evil monologue in the mirror. This was… stifling. Suffocating.

But the alternative was far worse. Conversations could lead to understanding, sympathy, and eventually something too horrible to even fathom.  _ Friendship.  _ That age-old boogeyman. Deceit had already almost ruined everything once by getting too close; he couldn’t risk that again.

So even as he itched for something,  _ anything _ to break the tense quiet that had fallen over them, he didn’t dare speak. Every so often, he risked a glance at Roman, and every time he looked away he wished he could have looked for longer. The prince had a strange expression on his face, somewhere between pensive and… angry, almost, but not quite.

Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Roman steal a glance at him. He chalked it up to his imagination.

Time inched by like a snail caught in a pool of molasses. The kingdom seemed so much  _ bigger, _ with a proper day-night cycle to show them how much time had passed, and by the time the sun began to set, they’d barely even made it halfway to the mountain. The silence grated against Deceit’s very being, leaving him tense and deeply uncomfortable. 

“So,” Roman began. Deceit pressed his lips into a thin line and cursed himself internally for wishing the silence away; he already preferred it to whatever was coming next, whatever disastrous thing he’d say to break Roman further. “The dark sides kicked you out?”

“Logan kicked me out,” Deceit corrected. “We are… opposite forces, he and I. Lies and truth. Although…” He paused to laugh, bitterly. “He hardly represents truth anymore. He simply… got tired of listening, I suppose.”

Roman nodded, his face lined with a deep, heavy sadness. “And no one… stood up for you? No one let you back in?”

Deceit burst out laughing. “What, did you think we were some kind of  _ family? _ Honey, no. Those bastards have wanted me dead for  _ years. _ Rage just expedited the process.”

“Ah.” Roman winced, lapsing back into silence. He swung his arms awkwardly by his sides, tension buzzing through the air. “Do… do you miss it?”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?”

“I — I don’t know! I can’t stand any more quiet!” Roman said. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and his fire dimmed. “You don’t have to answer. It was a stupid question.”

Deceit paused. “Funny, a few hours ago all you wanted me to do was shut up,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and shooting Roman a teasing look — one that Roman obviously missed. He began to splutter, apologies and offense getting tangled in his mouth.

“Don’t talk, then!” he said when he’d gotten his words under control. Deceit closed his mouth, shoulders raising tensely. The silence that fell after that was ten times as painful as the silence before, and he knew it was his fault. He used to be so… so  _ smooth. _ He could talk his way out of any situation. Why did it seem like all he could do now was hurt everyone around him?

“I… I do,” he said, after long enough had passed that the silence filled his lungs and choked him. When he next spoke, he found that the thick blanket of lies had lifted from his words, allowing him to speak freely. Whether this was a blessing or a curse was yet to be determined. “It’s not the safest place, or the kindest, but… it’s all I’ve ever known. Of course I miss it. He locked me out of the only home I’ve ever had.”

He sucked in a breath and closed his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say  _ that _ much. He hadn’t meant to be  _ that _ soft. But the damage had already been done; Roman was peering at him strangely, like he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and there was something sparkling in his eyes.  _ Sympathy, _ Deceit’s mind told him in a disgusted sneer, and he rejected the thought.

“I know how that feels,” Roman said a moment later, his voice ever-so-soft. At Deceit’s look, he rolled his eyes. “Deceit, I’ve been trapped in this place for weeks. I haven’t seen my family or my home in… far too long. I was trapped as a  _ dragon, _ for Odin’s sake! I don’t know, I  _ think _ that means I can relate to your plight.”

Deceit raised his eyebrows. “Ooh, sarcasm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m rubbing off on you.” He smiled when Roman laughed, hiding his giggles behind his hand. “So you can relate. At least I’m not alone in this bullshit.”

“You’re not,” Roman agreed. “If anything, I think I’ve been through more. Being a dragon was  _ not _ a fun experience. Worst case of heartburn I’ve ever had.”

Deceit managed to stop himself just before he burst out laughing. “Oh, honey, I can’t even count the number of times your  _ lovely _ brother has turned me into a snake. A word of advice: don’t play Trauma Olympics with someone who has lived with Remus.”

“You’re forgetting that we were the  _ same person _ for the first 13 years of our life,” Roman countered. “If anyone knows Remus, it’s me. How… how is he, anyway?”

Deceit pursed his lips. “As demented as ever,” he said. “I can only hope Logan has enough sense to keep him reigned in, for Thomas’ sake.”

“Y-Yes. Of course.” Roman ran his hand up and down his sash, a nervous fidget. “Logan is… really making a mess of things, isn’t he?”

“No, the situation is  _ perfectly _ ideal,” Deceit deadpanned, and Roman winced, sending hot regret seeping into his bones. He  _ hated _ how familiar he was becoming with the feeling of regret.

“I should have seen it coming,” Roman said, his words coursing with cold, defeated anger. “I should have — stepped in, or… something. Protected him. Protected us all. It’s my fault.”

His voice broke, and he wrapped his arms around himself, looking so downtrodden that Deceit —  _ Deceit, _ the epitome of morally gray bastardry, an asshole of the finest caliber — felt the sudden urge to hug him again. What the fuck was  _ wrong _ with him, for lying’s sake?

He shook his head, forcing those  _ soft _ urges back into the dark cave from whence they’d come. “Really,” he said flatly. “Your fault? There are six sides in the mindscape, aside from Rage, each of whom could have seen the signs and said something. Logan himself could have come forward with his troubles. Patton could have listened better. Virgil could have fought harder. I… I could have kept Rage under tighter reigns. But it is solely your fault? Forgive me if I have trouble believing that.”

Roman stuttered, fell silent, and twisted his lips into something between a grimace and a wince. “I’m the protector,” he said. “And I know —  _ knew _ — Logan best.”

“Hm, strange. I thought Virgil held both of those titles.” Deceit hummed thoughtfully, studying one of his gloves with all the casual ease he didn’t have. 

“Well — he did, I suppose, but —”

Deceit raised his hand, cutting Roman off. “Do not read into this any further than necessary,” he said as a preface, refusing to meet Roman’s eyes. “Placing the blame solely on yourself is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do — and I keep track of every stupid thing you light sides do. It cheers me up.”

“But…” Roman bit his lip, looking away. “I still feel bad. I could have noticed the signs, or — or something. Now everyone’s hurting, and I don’t know what to do. You said it yourself: I couldn’t defend them. I… I failed.”

Deceit almost winced. He took a breath, considering his next words very carefully. “Yes, you did,” he said, and Roman’s breath hitched. “Back then. What are you doing now, might I ask?”

Roman blinked. “Leaving the Imagination?”

Deceit clapped once. “Very good, Roman. And what is the goal here?”

“To… save Patton and Virgil?”

“So — and correct me if I’m wrong here — you’re taking action to protect your family.”

Roman hesitated. “I… I suppose so,” he said, grip tightening around his sash. “Still, everything’s just… it all feels so hopeless. I have no idea how to fix any of this.”

“Rather lucky you have me, then,” Deceit said smoothly.

“Why?”

Deceit placed a hand over his heart in mock-offense. “Roman, you wound me,” he said flatly. “I have  _ everything _ figured out. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.” It was a blatant lie, and he knew it; he just hoped Roman didn’t. “I helped you, didn’t I?”

Roman blushed. “Y-Yes, you did.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ That was so much softer than Deceit had been expecting. His heart did a ridiculous, flip-flopping dance in his chest, and he cleared his throat, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep his cheeks from darkening.

“T-There, you see?” he said, as smoothly as he could manage with his heart trying to crawl up his throat. “I know what I’m doing, Roman. I will fix this mess.”

Roman nodded and released his vice-grip on his sash. “Y-Yeah. We’ll… we’ll fix this.” he took a breath, and Deceit smiled to himself, satisfied with a job well done — but then Roman turned and  _ smiled _ at him, framed with sunset-light and  _ radiant _ in the golden glow, and Deceit’s heart waved the white flag and died on the spot. “Thanks, Dee.”

Oh.

Oh  _ fuck. _

Deceit slowed to a stop, and Roman continued on. For once, he dropped everything — his whole act, every mask he’d ever worn, shed in an instant in the face of a sunset and a prince he just couldn’t figure out. Fire spread across his face, turning his cheeks pink and then a deep, dark red, and his eyes widened. Realization whacked him in the chest and he gasped.

He watched Roman go, and knew in that moment that it wasn’t his room making him feel this way. 

He had fallen for a light side.

_ Shit. _


	19. Only Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones highkey short so i figured id just post it a bit early !!! enjoy!!

With night came the cold, and with the cold came that _wonderful,_  slow, foggy exhaustion Deceit loved so much. Being a cold-blooded side made things _so_  much easier.

Roman refused to let them keep going, once he figured out Deceit’s condition, and Deceit learned that the prince could be __extremely__  stubborn when he wanted to be. They stopped in one of the ghost-towns dotting the landscape, a tiny little village so cold and so quiet that even Deceit felt a chill down his spine as they searched for a place to sleep. It was so… __lonely.__

The village itself was a mirror of the kingdom around it; a patchwork of copies, the same building again and again and again. Fortunately, that building was well insulated and warm. Unfortunately, it was also empty. Completely and utterly bare, without a bed in sight.

“Not a problem,” Roman said, rolling up his sleeves. “If I can summon a bridge, I can summon a bed. Stand back, Dee.”

Deceit took a step back, watching Roman with an eyebrow raised. __Dee.__  He wasn’t sure how to feel about the nickname, but he knew he didn’t necessarily feel __bad.__  And that, in itself, was bad. He was falling all over again, becoming attached in all the ways he knew he shouldn’t. His little __realization__  couldn’t be allowed to ruin everything he’d worked towards. He wouldn’t let it.

Roman closed his eyes, hands shaking as he focused, eyebrows furrowing — and one bed appeared in midair and crashed to the floor, sending blankets and pillows flying. “Whoops,” Roman said with a nervous laugh. “I, uh — I meant to summon two. Uh…”

Panting, he tried again. And again. And again. Beads of sweat lined his brow, and his body began to tremble, but nothing else appeared. It seemed, despite his progress, he still wasn’t quite close enough to his former function. Deceit watched him work with only one thought running through his mind.

__Holy fuck._ _

Only one bed. Only __one__  bed! Oh, how __lucky__  he was. It would be __so__  easy to keep those horrible feelings at bay while staring a bed with the object of his… he refused to call them affections. Thanks, universe!

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a cold breeze blew in from the open door, glancing from Roman to the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said shortly.

“No!” Roman said, voice laced with exhaustion. “No, I will. You’re freezing, you need to —”

“And you’re exhausted,” Deceit pointed out. “No arguments, Roman. I’m taking the floor.”

“No, you’re not,” Roman said, and Deceit twisted his mouth into a scowl, eyes narrowing. Oh, he just __loved__  how stubborn Roman could get. “We can, ah… we can put up a pillow barrier down the middle and share!”

Oh, __hell__  no. “That’s completely necessary,” Deceit snapped, the human side of his face burning. “There are more than enough blankets and pillows for me to build a nest on the floor. I am used to it. You need rest, Roman. Take the goddamn bed.”

“You’re used to it?” Roman repeated, eyebrows raising. “Wh —”

 _ _“Nevermind,”__  Deceit said sharply. “You’re taking the bed, and that is final. I…” He trailed off as another cold breeze blew in through the door, his words failing as a whole new wave of exhaustion sank deep into his bones. God, he was __tired.__

Roman sighed, kicking the door shut. He took Deceit’s arm and pulled him to the bed, dumping him unceremoniously on one side and shoving him back down when he tried to get back up. Gathering the pillows in his arms, he built a tiny wall between them and flopped down on the other side. Deceit’s body sank into the warmth of the bed and he made a small, contented noise before he could stop himself, his eyes fluttering shut.

“There,” Roman said, and Deceit could practically __hear__  the smug smirk in his voice, and __really,__  that was so unfair. __He__  was supposed to be the smug bastard of their relationship. “Isn’t that better than the floor?”

“Sssssssssssshut up,” Deceit hissed tiredly. “And don’t even __think__  about crossing the barrier.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, __Lie__ money __Snake__ it,” Roman said. “Goodnight.”

Deceit hissed in response, already half-asleep.


	20. Kick It Up A Notch

Deceit was warm.

That was all he knew, trapped in that wonderfully diaphanous place, somewhere beyond sleep but not quite awake. Warmth surrounded him on all sides, and he leaned into it with a comforted hiss, darkness and colors swirling before his tired eyes. The warmth shifted to better encompass him, arms curling around his back, a chest rising and falling against his face, and he pushed into it as closely as he could, relishing in the deep comfort it brought.

Wait.

__Wait._ _

Deceit’s eyes snapped open and immediately met the sight of Roman’s muted gray-red sash, pressed up against his face. His gaze travelled up, to Roman’s head, which had been curled around his own, and then down to his own arms, wrapped tightly around Roman’s waist. He shoved away with a frantic, terrified hiss — his foot got tangled in the blankets — and he flipped over the edge of the bed, landing in a panicked heap on the floor. Roman rolled over in his sleep, murmuring something about mashed potatoes.

Deceit’s heart pounded a frantic staccato beat in his throat. His breath hitched just beneath it. The warmth still buzzed through every inch of his body — through every inch of bare skin that had brushed against Roman, and holy hell, it __hurt.__  Fire spread across his skin, burning agony, and he choked on the smoke.

 _ _No.__  He had to get a hold on himself. This meant nothing. He was a coldblooded creature, of __course__  he’d gravitated towards the closest source of warmth. And thankfully, that source of warmth hadn’t seemed to have noticed at all. Roman snored away, completely oblivious to Deceit and his panic.

Deceit sucked in a deep breath, trembling from head to toe, and yanked his lopsided cloak back into place. Already, the warmth was fading from his skin, and the air around him felt suffocatingly cold in comparison. A part of him wished, __longed,__  to climb back into bed and curl back into the warmth, curl back into Roman —

He was out the door before his mind could even finish the thought, his feet carrying him down the empty path to who-knows-where. Revulsion built in his chest and climbed up his throat, stinging in the corners of his eyes. He felt…

 _~~_Disgusting horrible wrong wrong wrong —_ ~~ _ ~~~~

Fine. He felt fine. Roman hadn’t even been awake to notice his little mistake. And if he _ _did__  somehow remember, Deceit would just praise his overactive imagination and pretend it had never happened.

He sighed sharply, slowing to a stop in the middle of the road. This was __exhausting.__  He thought he knew difficult — he’d been working to reign the __others__  in for 30 years, and that was no easy task — but this was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He ached from head to toe.

No, no. He didn’t ache. He __yearned.__

And he hated it more than words could say. All this time spent loathing society and its boogeymen and he still managed to fall into the clutches of the worst of them all: __romance.__  Love. What a __wonderful__  chemical con-job.

He’d watched greater men than him fall to it, and lesser men die for it. Where would he stand, when the boogeyman came to take him for its own? Would he even survive?

He shook his head. He was falling back into that pit of what-ifs, of hypotheticals that he would never allow to come true. And if they wouldn’t come true, there was no use dwelling on them.

He needed a distraction.

The sun had just barely begun to rise over the horizon, spilling light across the kingdom. Roman wouldn’t be awake for a few more hours, at the very least. That left Deceit with plenty of time to kill — time to use to distract himself before these thoughts got out of hand. He spun on the spot, scanning the copy-paste buildings for something, anything to do.

On the edge of town, there were a few unique buildings, just different enough to stand apart from the rest. Deceit hummed thoughtfully, striding towards one to peer in the windows. There were no people to be found, of course — but he could just make out the outlines of objects inside. He pushed open the door.

It was an armory of some kind, completely abandoned — or, rather, never inhabited in the first place. He ran a hand along an empty table and raised an eyebrow at the dust that puffed up at his touch, sticking to his fingertips.

There was a chair in the corner, and an empty fireplace against the far wall, the mantle lined with empty picture-frames. In the other corner was a bin a scrap mantle, twisted and torn into pieces, and above that, several gleaming swords hanging on an ornate rack.

Deceit tilted his head to the side, considering. With nothing better to do, he stood on tip-toes and stretched over the bin, liberating one of the swords. He turned it over in his hand, testing the weight, running a finger down the shining blade. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stepped back and sliced it through the air, and he grinned as he cleaved through an imaginary enemy, sword gleaming in the growing sunlight —

“What are you doing?”

“AH — what — __nothing!”__  The sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground as he whirled, his heart leaping into his throat. Roman stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, and Deceit had never wanted to strangle him more. Of __course__  he managed to wake up early that day. Of __course.__

“Really?” Roman asked. “Because — and correct me if I’m wrong — it looked like you were trying to sword fight.”

Deceit sneered. “Oh, __do__  keep being sarcastic, I __love__  it when you steal my thing.” He stooped to pick up the sword, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “That was nothing. I was just bored.”

“Mhm.” Roman gave him a once-over. “Your stance is terrible. Have you ever used a sword before?”

 _ _“Yes,”__  Deceit snapped.

Roman laughed. “Calm down, Salazar S- _ _lie-__ therin, I’m just being honest.”

“Oh, and you know how much I __love__  that,” Deceit deadpanned. “If you’re such a talented warrior, why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

And then Deceit really, __really__  regretted having the ability to speak, because Roman laughed again and strode over to stand behind him, gently grasping his arms to move them into place. He nudged Deceit’s feet further apart with his own, humming that stupid Steven Universe song the whole time, and Deceit tried to keep his expression neutral as his heart doused his face in gasoline and set it aflame.

“There,” Roman said, satisfied. “Now you look like a true warrior.”

“Great,” Deceit said dryly. Truth be told, he did feel more balanced, but you’d have to kill him before he admitted it. “Now what?”

Roman blinked. “We leave?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We have to get going. The mindscape isn’t going to save itself!”

Deceit lowered his sword, disappointment blooming in his chest. Roman was right, of course, but… he was __not__  ready for five more hours of silent walking. Not yet. As Roman strode through the doorway, Deceit swiped another sword from the rack and followed him out.

“Fight me!” he declared, with much more gusto than he’d planned. As Roman whirled around to stare at him, eyes wide, he cleared his throat. “I mean — I challenge you.”

Roman’s mouth twitched with amusement. He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I’m as entertained as could be,” Deceit drawled. “Totally ready for another five-hour walk.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, taking the sword Deceit offered. He turned it experimentally in his hands, expression growing darker, more clouded, and for a moment Deceit felt cold regret seep unbidden into his bones. Roman’s own beloved sword had only just been broken; perhaps giving him a new one so soon wasn’t the best idea?

But then Roman straightened up, swinging it through the air, and Deceit relaxed. “Alright,” he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “I accept your challenge, peasant.”

Deceit gasped in mock-offense, sliding his feet apart to match Roman’s stance. He lunged and Roman blocked on instinct, their swords clashing together in a shower of sparks. Roman twisted his wrist and sent Deceit’s sword clattering to the ground, and Deceit stumbled backwards.

“There, I win,” Roman said, with an infuriating smirk. Deceit blinked, heat rushing to his cheeks, and he scooped his sword back up off the floor. He wasn’t done yet — he hadn’t even started to have fun. Besides, maybe attacking Roman would banish those traitorous thoughts. He could vent his frustrations and be on his merry way.

Unlikely, but… a snake could dream.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast!” he taunted, waggling his finger. Roman raised an eyebrow and shifted back into his stance, boots scuffling along the dirt road. “I won’t give up without a real fight, your highness.”

“I doubt you’d be much of a fight,” Roman scoffed. Then, as an afterthought, brows furrowing the slightest bit: “And I am not much of an opponent.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Deceit agreed, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Roman blinked, sword lowering.

“Wh —”

But Deceit cut him off with an evil cackle, slipping into his villainous persona without a second thought. He wanted to have __fun__  with this — and he was part of an actor, after all. Plus, giving Roman a reason to fight, a story to bring to completion, a dastardly villain to slay might be exactly what he needed to re-light his fire. “You’re weak, __your highness,”__  he sneered. “With you out of the way, your pathetic kingdom will belong to me!”

Roman hesitated. He seemed caught between agreeing, arguing, and joining the act. “If my kingdom is so pathetic,” he said slowly, as if he hadn’t quite decided what to do yet, “why are you so intent on stealing it?”

Deceit waved a hand dismissively. “’Tis the life of a villain, I’m afraid. Pillaging, plundering —”

“Isn’t that pirates?”

“Pirates are villains!” Deceit said. “And with your kingdom under my control, I shall bring every citizen to their knees!” Another evil cackle, his arms spread wide, amusement swelling in his chest. Oh, how he’d __missed__  acting. Roman lifted his sword, tilting his head as he regarded Deceit.

“And what if I stop you?” he asked. “What if I protect my kingdom?”

“Then you will prove yourself to be the prince I know you are,” Deceit said before he could stop himself, his voice forceful, and genuinely proud. Roman’s expression wavered for a moment, and Deceit cleared his throat. “So come on! Do you dare challenge me?”

Roman paused, lips pursed thoughtfully, and Deceit laughed. He knew exactly was this interaction was missing. “I can see you’re still undecided,” he said. “Allow me to… sweeten the deal. Slay me, and I’ll burn your kingdom to the ground!”

Roman’s eyebrows raised. “Don’t you mean or?” he asked, with growing excitement. “That seems like a pretty crucial conjunction.”

Deceit sighed over-dramatically. “Oh, yes, I suppose. Slay me, __or__  I’ll burn your kingdom to the ground!”

A laugh tumbled from Roman’s lips, and he smiled. Internally, Deceit commended himself on his Disney references. “Alright, villain,” Roman declared. “I accept your challenge!”

Deceit grinned — and the two rushed each other, metal scraping against metal as they brought their swords crashing together. Deceit twisted, raising his sword in a wide arc through the air, and Roman leaped back to catch his blade and shoved Deceit backwards. He laughed as he blocked Deceit’s next attack, and Deceit’s face erupted in heat just distracting enough that Roman was able to knock his sword from his hands.

“Ha! I win again!” Roman boasted, and for a moment Deceit felt his soul leave his body, because __holy shit —__  but then he slipped back into the battle and slipped past Roman, dropping to his knees and grabbing his sword. He lifted it just in time to block Roman’s attack, pushing against it with all his might.

“You fight almost as well as a man,” Deceit purred. Roman laughed again, bright and happy.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you!”

Swords clashing, the battle raged on, and Deceit fell into the rhythm of the fight, blocking and dodging and slicing. He could see why Roman enjoyed this so much; it was a dance all its own, bodies twisting around each other to the beat of their swords. He studied Roman’s movements and copied them, and then —

And then Roman’s sword went flying from his hands and landed with a clatter behind him, and Deceit stood tall, the end of his blade held just beneath Roman’s chin. Silence reigned as the two stared from opposite ends of the sword, breathing heavily. Deceit grinned, and only remembered at the last second that he was meant to be playing the villain. He shoved all happiness out of his expression, replacing it with cold, victorious villainy.

“You lose,” he purred. “What a shame. Say farewell, __your highness.__  Your kingdom belongs to —”

“Not so fast!” Roman declared, his cheeks burning bright red — and Deceit only had a moment to realize that his face was __bright red, his face had color, he had color again__ before Roman darted back and held out his hand, determination shining in his eyes. Sparks flew around his outstretched palm, glimmering in every color of the rainbow as they shot through the air, and Deceit gaped as a sword appeared in Roman’s hand, gleaming.

And before he knew what was happening, Roman shot forward and knocked his sword from his hand, and suddenly his blade was beneath Deceit’s chin, cold metal pressing into his skin just lightly enough that it didn’t hurt. “How the tables turn,” Roman purred, seemingly unaware of what he’d just done, and Deceit spluttered, face bright red, and __god,__  when had it gotten so __hot?__

Finally, he got a hold of his voice. “You summoned a sword,” he managed, and Roman blinked, his blade lowering.

“I-I did,” Roman said softly, gazing at the sword in his hands like it held all the answers to every question in the world. He ran his thumb along a gemstone embedded in the hilt, engraved with his logo, and then trailed his finger down the blade. It was so much more beautiful than the one he’d had before, the one Logan had broken. A hesitant smile grew on his face. “I did! Ha! Take __that,__  Logan!”

“It’s completely revolting,” Deceit said proudly, gaze caught in the way the sword shone. “I’m not at all impressed.”

Roman’s smile grew into a bright grin, and he lifted his head to look at Deceit, eyes shining. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, and his voice was oh-so-soft, and Deceit’s heart skipped several beats. “You’re not such a bad guy after all.”

What?

__What?_ _

Deceit blinked once, twice, three times, and his brain threw out his ability to speak in favor of his ability to scream internally. He opened his mouth and closed it and then opened it again, gaping like a dying fish, his brain blue-screening. Error 404: Deceit.exe has stopped working.

 _ _Not such a bad guy,__ his brain repeated, somewhere between a shocked scream and a taunt. __Not such a bad guy, not such a bad guy, not bad not bad not bad —__

“Dee?” Roman asked, tilting his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“I — I am —” He growled, cleared his throat, and yanked his cloak back into place. This was ridiculous. He should be __offended!__  Sure, he wasn’t __evil,__  but Roman couldn’t just come and yank his Bad Guy title out from under him just like that! “For your information, this changes __everything,”__  he said, the words tumbling from his mouth in a rush. “I’m __not__  still a devilishly evil bastard, and I __don’t__  want you to refer to me as such.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Got it,” he said, after a moment’s pause, and Deceit was downright __incensed__  to see the way the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Well, __devilishly evil bastard,__  thank you… for everything.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Deceit snapped, and Roman just laughed. Face burning, Deceit stomped his foot and turned on his heel, crossing his arms tightly. “I’m a goddamn __asshole.”__

“Sure,” Roman said.

Deceit stiffened, swallowing hard. Helping the light sides __one__  time didn’t mean he was one of them. He wasn’t __Virgil;__  he wasn’t going to go native. He was still one of the Others — and sure, he wasn’t as cruel as the rest of them, but he was still a wicked, manipulative liar! He couldn’t be anything else.

Because how could the balance survive, if the gatekeeper himself lost his way?

 

 


	21. For Forever (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WARNING REMUS IS IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> very briefly but the bitchbabey himself does make an appearance so if he makes u uncomfy at all please dont read!! take care of urselves yall 
> 
> also this has officially hit 30k which means im now 5k over my final wordcount goal and im not even a fourth of the way through the story,,,, sobs

It was time to leave.

The exit to the Imagination stood before them, shining bright crimson in the fading evening light. Roman and Deceit stood side-by-side; neither moved to open it. A soft breeze blew around them, comforting and warm, and the sunset painted across the sky was more glorious than any of the ones they’d seen before, the kind that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. It was as though the realm itself didn’t want them to leave.

Which was ridiculous. They had to leave; their work there was done. Roman was almost entirely back to normal — his hair was still stark white, and shining scales still sat scattered across his cheeks, but he was __passionate__  again, loud and creative and brave. For all appearances, he was exactly the man he’d once been.

Deceit could see past appearances. He knew that cracks still splintered through Roman’s armor, and that one too many wrong moves could send him spiraling back to square one — but that was no different from how he’d been before. The sight of his realm no longer filled Deceit with unyielding insecurity, and Roman himself was well enough to endure whatever trials the other sides’ rooms would have in store for them.

Therefore, it was time to leave. Roman was ready. Deceit was too.

Of course he was. He’d wanted to leave since the first moment he set foot in Roman’s realm. The path before him was clear, and the end-goal was too; he’d get to go __home__  soon. The path behind him was only littered with pain.

~~And warm smiles and lingering touches and laughter and something deeper, something warmer, something horrible and wonderful and entirely new.~~ ~~~~

Deceit drew in a long breath, looking back at the realm stretched out beneath them, at the tower, so far away on the horizon, framed by sunset-light. Roman followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“Deceit,” he said slowly, with the air of someone who wasn’t quite sure what was right and what was wrong anymore, who wasn’t quite sure if they cared regardless. “Once this whole mess is settled, you could… come back here, you know.”

Deceit blinked. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said, not quite meeting his eyes. “In case you want a… break, or something.” __Or an escape,__  he added, with a quirk of his brow.

“I appreciate the offer, Roman,” he said, as smoothly as he could manage with his heart trying to escape up his throat. “Unfortunately, there is no rest for the wicked. Shall we?”

And without another word, without waiting to see if Roman was ready, Deceit strode forward and yanked open the door. A blast of frigid air rushed into the Imagination, stale and painful, and he shivered, yanking his cloak tighter around himself.

The mindscape was exactly as he’d left it; cold, dark, and impossibly quiet. Patton’s door had splintered further, bits of wood scattered across the carpet below. The darkness seeping out from beneath Virgil’s door had spread, crawling across the walls like an encroaching disease. But Roman’s door was, essentially, back to normal — bright crimson wood and a golden handle, shining spotlessly. The only difference was the name-tag, which was in silver rather than gold.

Roman’s breath hitched in his throat. He gazed at the other doors, a heartbroken expression settling on his face, pain swirling in his eyes as he followed the path of destruction. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth in shock. “Was… was my door like this, too?” he asked, and Deceit could hear the unvoiced question in his words. __Can they be fixed?__

Deceit nodded. “It was practically falling apart,” he said, recalling the way the rusted name-tag had crumbled in his hands.

“Okay,” Roman said, his voice thick. “Okay. Who are we helping first?”

“Patton,” Deceit said, shivering as he stepped up to the rotted gray door. He brushed his hand against the wood and a deep, dusty heaviness settled into his bones, weighing him down. Darkness swirled in his gut, deep, empty hopelessness — and suddenly it felt like there was no point to anything he’d done, like there was no point to anything he could do. He curled his fingers against the wood and shook his head, and that action alone took almost more willpower than he could bear.

He had a feeling he knew exactly what Patton had become.

“This is going to be extremely easy,” he said, and his voice dragged, listless, empty. He didn’t even have the energy to keep lies from seeping into his voice, twisting his words. “Roman, you definitely have to come along. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’re right, you can’t,” Roman said, taking his hand and gently pulling him away from the door. “I will not stand idly by while my loved ones suffer. Not anymore. I’m coming with you.”

Deceit blinked, exhaustion draping like a heavy blanket across his mind. “You’re sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Patton is definitely going to listen to me. And once he learns that we’re…” __Friends,__  his mind supplied, and he shoved that thought away. “Acquaintances, he’ll be __so__  willing to trust you. It’ll be very easy.”

“I know,” Roman said, glancing at the door with an unreadable expression. “But… the most important things in life are rarely easy. Patton will listen, I promise. It just might take some time first. Just… treat him as kindly as you’ve treated me —”

“I will murder you.”

“— and everything will work out!” Roman said. Deceit could see the doubt in his eyes, could __feel__  the optimistic lies buzzing just beneath his words. He didn’t mention it. “Perhaps we should get some rest first, though. No warrior should ever face a battle on no sleep, and you… you look exhausted.”

“Rude,” Deceit said flatly. “I looked wonderful.”

Roman rolled his eyes and turned towards the staircase without another word. Deceit followed, carefully edging around the crack, and made it downstairs just in time to watch Roman heave a massive armful of blankets out of the closet. He dumped them unceremoniously on the couch and grinned.

Deceit snatched the thickest blanket he could find and hugged it tightly around himself, hissing contentedly at the warmth it brought. Roman laughed, carefully stacking blankets on the floor between two cracks. “You look like a burrito,” he said. “A… Deceit-o.”

“That was a wonderful joke, Roman,” Deceit deadpanned. “So funny. I’m laughing so hard right now.”

“Oh, shut up,” Roman said, still laughing. He curled up on his makeshift bed. “Get some sleep, Deceit-o.”

And Deceit was so tired, he couldn’t even muster the energy to argue. He settled down on the couch and wrapped himself in as many blankets as he could get his hands on, and settled into sleep just as easily. Finally, out of Roman’s realm, away from the influence of any sides’ rooms, he could finally get a good night’s sleep.

He was awake no more than two hours later.

A thick, empty dread had settled in the pit of his stomach, driving away any and all hopes of sleep. __Something__  nagged in the corner of his mind, insistent and vague, and it refused to leave him alone long enough to let him sleep. He growled into his pillow, frustration lodging in his chest. Sitting still was killing him; he had to do something.

Still wrapped tightly in his burrito — and yes, he was going to kill Roman later for sticking that lovely phrase in his mind — he shifted gently off the couch and padded into the kitchen.

To call the sight that greeted him there a __mess__  would be a vast understatement. It looked as though a hurricane had blown through the small room, followed immediately by an earthquake, and topped off with a tornado. Food had been scattered and splattered haphazardly across every inch, thrown together into piles and blobs until nothing was recognizable anymore.

He raised an eyebrow. Was anything in there even still edible? Granted, he wasn’t human, he didn’t necessarily need things to be edible to eat them, but still. It was the principle of the thing. He strained to reach the top cabinets, feeling around inside for any boxes still intact.

“Dee…”

He froze at the deep, sultry voice, eyes widening. Roman stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall with his hip jutted out to one side, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth quirked into a seductive smirk. Deceit blinked. “Roman? What are you —”

Roman pushed off the wall and caught Deceit in his arms, shoving their lips together in a mad rush of passion. Deceit squeaked, his eyes flying wide, a yelp flying from his lips when Roman twirled around and dipped him — and then dropped him on the floor.

“Ha! Oh, you should see your face!” Roman’s form rippled — and suddenly Remus was standing in his place, neck cricked to the side, eyes wide and gleeful. Deceit’s blood ran cold. “You really thought Roman was kissing you! Aw, do you love him? You love him!” Remus cackled. “You love him! You wanna __fuck__ him!”

Deceit’s face burned. He sneered, shoving himself to his feet and yanking his cloak back into place. “Remus. What a pleasant surprise.” He raised an eyebrow coldly, crossing his arms. “Might I ask why you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

“What, a guy can’t check up on his best friend?” Remus hopped up onto the counter and dragged his hand through a pile of unidentifiable mush. Judging by the glass shards scattered throughout it, it might have once been Crofters. He shoved it in his mouth without a second thought, glass and all. “Mmm, crunchy!” he said, beaming, as blood dripped down his chin.

“We’re not friends,” Deceit said, shedding the smooth pretense. “What do you want?”

Remus wiggled a shard of glass between his teeth like a toothpick. “I’m just here to see what you’re up to, scaly!” he said, far too innocently. “I didn’t know you could be so __noble!__  Saving the light sides, who woulda thunk? Gosh, Logan’s gonna be so __mad__  when he finds out!”

Deceit narrowed his eyes. “He will not find out,” he snapped. “He will not hurt them again.”

“Really —”

Deceit twisted his hand through the air, and Remus’ mush-coated hand came up to slap over his mouth. He continued to murmur intelligibly through his hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “He will not find out,” Deceit hissed again, as Remus continued to babble. “And you will not tell him. Understand?”

Remus yanked his hand away from his mouth and kept babbling as though it was still there, his lips stretching into a wide grin. Deceit narrowed his eyes.

__“Understand?”_ _

Remus placed a hand over his heart, his babble crashing to a halt. “My goodness,” he said softly, mockingly touched. “My goodness, you actually care about them! Good ol’ double-dick’s gone soft! I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Shut up,” Deceit snapped. “I have not ‘gone soft.’ It’s my job to keep the balance. I’m only restoring things to how they were.”

“Sure,” Remus said with an over-exaggerated wink, “and I __haven’t__  fucked a tiger. Well!” He hopped off the counter, scooped the rest of the mush into his mouth, and grinned through a mouthful of glass. “It was nice catching up with you! Lemme know how it goes when you try to fix Virgil. If he doesn’t, you know, __kill__  you first. Ta-ta!”

And he vanished, his final Cheshire-cat grin hanging, disembodied, in the air. Deceit closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, gritting his teeth tightly to keep from screaming. If he listened closely, he could still hear Roman snoring in the next room over, and he was in no rush to wake him; he did __not__  want him to know anything about what had just happened.

Remus knew. Remus knew exactly what he was doing — and, somehow, he knew exactly what had transpired between Deceit and Roman. Was it too much of a stretch to assume that the __others__  knew as well? Remus, at least, would keep his mouth shut. He’d be too eager to see Logan’s reaction when all was said and done, too eager to thrive in the chaos that would follow. But if anyone else found out…

No. He couldn’t — __wouldn’t__  — let them find out. He hadn’t worked this hard for everything to fall apart again. He wasn’t going to lose.


	22. Escapism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im BACK babey
> 
> the big bang is done!!! and im ready to throw myself back into this project again!!
> 
> and now that roman's arc is fully done its time.... for some patton angst :)c

Morning found them standing outside Patton’s door again.

Roman was well-rested — and Deceit was good at pretending to be — but neither was quite ready to delve into whatever horrors waited for them beyond the door. Merely touching it the night before had been enough to almost knock Deceit off his feet. How badly would it hurt — how __empty__  would they become — once they actually went inside?

“What do you think he is now?” Roman asked suddenly, never tearing his eyes from the door. Deceit raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “You know, like how I was Insecurity.”

“I’m not sure,” Deceit said, though he had several theories. “Depression, maybe. Or Apathy. Something like that.”

“Ah.” Roman bit his lip, eyebrows furrowing, and for a moment he looked as he had before Deceit had been able to get through to him: downtrodden and deeply, hopelessly insecure. Then his gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing. “Nothing we can’t fix, right?”

“Of course,” Deceit said, though his insides burned with doubt. To be completely honest (ew), he wasn’t sure if he could help Patton. Roman probably could; he and Patton had been close friends, before this whole disaster began. Patton would listen to him.

But Patton had never exactly been fond of __him.__  Years of constant arguments had shattered whatever trust there might have been between them; he’d be more willing to trust __Logan,__  even after everything he’d done. He wouldn’t listen.

Well. At least, when the mindscape fell apart, Deceit could say that he tried.

“Are you ready?” Roman asked, and for a moment Deceit wanted to say no, wanted more than anything to prolong the inevitable, prolong the pain they’d surely feel once inside. He wrapped that desire up and threw it out the window.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Roman took a deep breath and pushed open the door, and the two plunged inside before their doubts could stop them. Heavy dust settled in Deceit’s lungs the moment he crossed the threshold, and he slowed to a stop, empty dread swirling in his gut.

The room around them was more of a prison cell than a bedroom. Blank walls, blank floors, blank, unused furniture, each the same shade of dusty off-white. Gone was the ever present __mess__  of Patton’s old room; there were no memories on the walls, no stuffed animals stacked along the bed, no blankets or plush pillows or anything, really, to signify that someone actually lived there. The one remnant of the way it used to be was the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling — but the bulbs were cracked and shattered, and cobwebs hung from the cord, swaying back and forth in the dull, cold breeze.

 _ _“Oh,”__  Roman breathed, glancing around the room with wide, heartbroken eyes. The change must have been especially jarring for him; he’d spent a lot of time in Patton’s room, before everything had gone wrong. “Where’s Patton?”

His voice echoed around them, again and again, growing emptier each time. Deceit shook his head to clear the cobwebs growing through his thoughts and looked around, eyes narrowing. Where __was__  Patton?

A lump on the bed shifted ever-so-slightly, and Deceit raised an eyebrow. “There,” he said, his voice echoing hollowly. Roman followed his gaze and his face brightened, and he strode forward, pulling the blankets away from the bed — and then he gasped, the blankets falling from his hands.

Cracks splintered across Patton’s form, sharp lines of deepest black marring every inch of open skin. His cat hoodie was gone; his shirt was a dull, dusty gray-blue, the exact same shade as his dull, empty eyes. A crack spanned the length of one of the lenses in his glasses. He didn’t move when the blanket disappeared, and didn’t respond to their appearance beyond a tiny sigh.

“Oh, Patton,” Roman whispered, kneeling down beside the bed. “What did he do to you?”

He reached out to brush stray strands of black hair out of Patton’s face, and Patton finally moved, grabbing his wrist and holding tight. “What do you want,” he said, more of a statement than a question, and __god,__  Deceit had never been particularly close with Patton, but the sheer __emptiness__  in his voice sent a sharp pang through his chest.

“We want to help you,” Roman said earnestly, twisting his wrist out of Patton’s grip to lace their fingers together. Deceit took a hesitant step forward, struggling to find __something__  to say.

Patton beat him to it. “We…?” He shifted, his gaze moving past Roman to land on Deceit’s face. For a split second, a thousand emotions flashed through his eyes — he sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his hand from Roman’s. “You’re with him.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t angry or disappointed, as Deceit had expected. Just… defeated. He sighed, eyes slipping shut, as though he believed they’d attack at any moment and he didn’t care one bit. Roman pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze flickering to Deceit for a long, worried moment.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’m with him. And that’s okay. He’s not who he used to be, Patton.”

“Neither am I,” Patton answered dully. “Does that matter?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Deceit said. He cleared his throat, trying to force truth into his voice, but the dust settled deep in his bones had begun to gather around his mind, weighing down his thoughts. “I know I’ve __never__  made mistakes in the past. I’m the very epitome of trustworthy. But right now, my only goal is to make sure you’re in as __much__  pain as possible — I mean —”

Roman shot him a look, and Deceit stammered to a stop. “What he means is,” Roman began, “he’s trying to fix the mess Logan made. I… I was in just as much pain as you are, just a few weeks ago. Deceit stayed with me until I became my princely self again. He helped every step of the way. We’re going to do the same for you, I promise.”

“Sure,” Patton said flatly.

“I understand if you can’t trust me,” Deceit said, his voice strained as he shoved as much truth as he could into his words. “But at least trust that I have Thomas’ best interests at heart. He doesn’t — I mean, he __needs__  you. We both know that.”

“Sure,” Patton said again. “He needs me. ‘Cause I was so — so helpful in the past, right?”

“Patton, of __course__  you were,” Roman said, his hand hovering just above Patton’s arm, as though he wanted nothing more than to draw Patton into his arms and hug him until he was better. “You —”

  
“Y’know what?” Patton sat up, pushing Roman’s hand away. A hint of anger swirled through the emptiness in his eyes. It was the most emotion they’d seen from him yet. “I knew you were weak to __his__  flattery, Roman, but I never thought you’d become such a __liar.”__

Roman reeled back, hurt swelling in his eyes. “Patton —”

 _ _“No.”__  Patton stood, stumbling back away from them both. The room took his pain and amplified it tenfold; Deceit nearly crumbled beneath the deep weight that settled on his chest, pressing down, down, __down__  until he could barely breathe. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care — I can’t. Leave me out of it.”

Roman clutched at his chest, his fingers curling tightly around his sash as tears filled his eyes. “Patton, __please,”__  he whispered, his voice breaking.

Patton looked at him for a long moment, pain flashing through his eyes and leaving just as quickly. His gaze brushed over the scales on Roman’s face and his face hardened. “I said __leave,”__  he snapped — and the wall behind him cracked in two, darkness swirling through the drywall until a doorway had formed. Deceit’s blood ran cold. The __Subconscious?__  Why was Patton opening a door to the Subconscious?

“No,” Deceit croaked as Patton stepped backwards. Tendrils of darkness gathered around him — and he faded through the doorway and vanished. “No, no, __no —”__

“What did he do?” Roman asked quickly, jumping to his feet. “What happened? Where —”

“He went to the subconscious,” Deceit hissed. “We have to —” With a hollow __pop,__  the door behind them vanished. Cold dread swirled in Deceit’s stomach. One-by-one, pieces of bare furniture began to vanish around them, fading into nothingness — and if they lingered for too long, they’d meet the same fate.

“What’s happening?” Roman cried, grabbing onto Deceit’s arm for support as the room shook around them. Darkness crawled across the walls, spreading onto the furniture like a disease, dissolving everything into the Subconscious.

“He’s erasing his connection to Thomas,” Deceit said, pushing them both back as a tendril of darkness lashed at their feet. “’Ducking out.’ We have to get out of here.”

“How?” Roman stumbled and fell into his side as the floor cracked in two, and more darkness flowed from inside, gathering around them like a pit of snakes. Roman summoned his sword, slicing shadows to no avail. “There’s no door!”

Deceit shook his head. “The door to the subconscious is still open,” he said, his heart pounding. “We can follow him inside. It’ll be incredibly __safe,__  but going in willingly is a lot __worse__  than being dragged in.”

Roman cleaved a shadow in half. “Are you sure?”

Deceit didn’t answer. He took a breath and took Roman’s hand, stepping back from the crack splintered through the floor. Cold air rushed through the doorway behind them; shadows curled around their feet, pulling them further in.

“Whatever happens,” he said, his voice loud to be heard over the roar of the Subconscious, “don’t get separated.”

Roman squeezed his hand tightly, and together they turned and jumped into the Subconscious.


	23. On the Run

Harsh wind blew against Deceit’s face, violent gusts slicing across his skin in bursts of sharp pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and _fell,_  his connection to the mindscape fading behind him, his form fading around him — until all he could feel was Roman’s hand in his, as real as ever in a world of fake. They fell for so long he wondered if it would ever end.

And then it did. He crashed to the ground and his form flickered back around him, all-too-real, all-too-sudden. He curled up against the cold ground, nausea curling in his stomach, and tried to catch his short, panicked breath.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked, his voice echoing quietly around them. He sounded just as sick as Deceit felt. “Dee?”

“I’m —” He bit back a groan and forced himself up. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Roman whispered, but he didn’t protest further. He squeezed Deceit’s hand and helped him up, hands moving to his shoulders to brace him as he wavered. His face looked impossibly pale in the awful, dim lighting of the subconscious, his eyes wide and fearful, his white hair a disheveled mess. Deceit reached forward and brushed loose strands of hair out of his face absentmindedly, and then pulled out of Roman’s grip, looking around.

For all he knew about the workings of the mindscape, he had never actually set foot inside the Subconscious. It was dangerous enough for a light side, whose connection to Thomas was strong enough to survive a few days, maybe a week at best — but for someone like him, who Thomas hated? He could already feel the cold, dull Subconscious tugging at his very core, tugging away everything that made him Deceit. He had a couple days, maybe less, and that was an optimistic estimate.

Darkness spread around them in an endless, foggy landscape, cold and dreary and __empty.__  Shadows swirled on the horizon, giving the illusion of buildings, of something __more,__  but Deceit knew they were only lies. There was nothing there.

“Where’s Patton?” Roman asked.

“He’s here,” Deceit said, because there was nowhere else he could have gone. “He has the most power over this place. He could be manipulating it to stay hidden.”

Roman blinked. “Why does he have the most power?”

“Because he has the most power over Thomas. The strongest connection,” Deceit said. At Roman’s confused expression, he laughed. “Come now, Roman, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it. Tell me, does he not play a role in __every__  decision Thomas makes? In everything he does?”

“I… I suppose.”

“That whole __wedding vs. callback__  debacle totally __doesn’t__  prove my point.”

Roman winced. “Alright, so he’s powerful. Is that a bad thing?”

“Depends,” Deceit said, studying his gloves casually. “Right now? His strong connection to Thomas means that he won’t dissolve nearly as quickly as we will in this hellhole.”

“Woah, wait, how quickly will we dissolve?” Roman asked, flexing his fingers, as though he feared they’d start disappearing right there and then. Deceit hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe a week,” he lied. Well, it wasn’t __completely__  a lie. Roman had a strong connection to Thomas too, a week wasn’t an impossible estimate. Roman looked at him strangely, as if he could sense his lies, and Deceit cleared his throat. “Shall we start looking?”

Roman took his hand, and they chose a random direction and started, calling Patton’s name as loudly as they dared. It echoed back around them from a million different directions, swirling and twisting until it made Deceit’s head spin. Disappointment and dread bloomed in his stomach the more time went on; was he going to have to spend __another__  three to five chapters searching for Patton? It had taken long enough to find Roman, and he was hiding in plain sight — but this place had no landmarks, no signs, __nothing__  to tell him if they were going in the right direction.

What if they didn’t find Patton before Deceit’s time ran out? His thoughts had already begun to go fuzzy, and cold numbness buzzed through the tips of his fingers. If they didn’t find Patton soon, they’d have to leave and start all over — or, or __he’d__  have to leave, and leave Roman alone. Neither scenario brought him any comfort, but the latter downright terrified him.

Purely on a professional level, of course. Leaving any of Thomas’ core sides alone to fade into the Subconscious was just about the stupidest thing he could think of. The mindscape would wither in Roman’s absence.

And, well. He didn’t want to lose Roman any sooner than he had to.

Roman squeezed his hand, as if he’d sensed how badly Deceit was spiraling. “We’ll find him,” he said softly, his voice the slightest bit hoarse from yelling. “I promise.”

“Strange,” Deceit hummed. “I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you.”

Roman laughed; the sound echoed around them, warm, comforting. “No, save that for Patton,” he said. “You can comfort to your slimy little heart’s content as soon as we find him.”

 _ _Because he’ll definitely be receptive to that,__  Deceit thought, but he stayed silent. Roman nudged him in the side and began yelling again, cupping his free hand around his mouth, as if his bellowing wasn’t loud enough.

And then Patton popped into existence before them.

Roman shrieked in surprise, stumbling backward. “By Poseidon’s trident!” he cried, placing a hand over his heart, and Deceit couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitched. Roman took a breath and smiled warmly, though desperation and doubt flashed through his eyes. “You gave us quite the scare there, Padre. What, have you been taking lessons from Virgil?”

Pain flickered across Patton’s face, and Deceit squeezed Roman’s hand just tight enough to get him to shut up. Sure, mention the family he’d lost while he was this unstable, __that__  was a good idea! He glared at Roman and Roman closed his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing.

Patton watched this silent exchange with a strange expression. His gaze trailed down to their linked hands, and the emotions in his eyes peaked before fading completely, overtaken by dust. “Why did you follow me?” he whispered flatly.

“Because we need you,” Roman said, taking a step forward. Patton didn’t step back; Deceit counted that as progress. “Not just as a side, but as a __friend.__  You —”

“No.” Patton breathed a long, heavy sigh. “Go home, kiddo. You’re just gonna get hurt here.”

Genuine concern? __Kiddo?__  Oh, they were definitely making progress.

“So will you!” Roman said. “If you fade away in here, Thomas isn’t just losing one of his most important sides, __we’re__  losing an important part of our family! I won’t let you do that, Patton.”

“What family?” Patton asked, eyes narrowing. “It’s — it’s great that you’re all better, but in case you’ve forgotten, Virgil —” His voice broke; his hands balled into fists by his sides. “Virgil’s still locked away in his room, and I’m __broken.__  And Logan’s working with __them!”__

And he pointed at Deceit, his hand shaking. Deceit bristled, yanking his cloak tighter around himself. “Oh, yes, and I’m __definitely__  with ‘them.’ __I’m so happy__  with the direction Logan’s taking us all in! That’s why I spent __weeks__  helping Roman get back on his feet. All part of my devious plan, right?”

“Dee,” Roman said, but Deceit held up a hand.

“Do you __really__  think that I would go to all this trouble — that I’d risk fading into the __Subconscious__  — for __them?__  That I would play the role of the __hero__  for __them?__  Everything I’m doing now is to ensure that Logan fails, that balance is restored. And you, Morality, you’re a part of that balance. So you’d better __damn well believe__  that we’re going to help you.”

Breathing heavily, he pulled his hand from Roman’s and crossed his arms, his glare resolute, unyielding. Patton wavered, his hands curling towards his chest, spots of blue shining through the deep gray of his eyes — and for a moment, hope bloomed in Deceit’s chest — but then he stepped back, the gray returning, his face darkening.

“No,” he said, voice shaking. “I’m — I’m not Morality anymore. I can’t be who you need me to be.”

“Patton, that’s okay,” Roman said. “We can —”

“No,” Patton said. He stepped back further, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as he clutched at his chest. “No, you __can’t.__  There’s no point in even trying. Go home.”

“Patton,” Deceit said, holding out a hand.

__“No!”_ _

He slammed his foot against the ground, and cracks splintered from his touch, spreading jaggedly across the void. He reeled back, eyes widening — and the cracks grew into great schisms across the fabric of the Subconscious, colorful lights bleeding from inside. Panic jolted Deceit into action as a ravine split between him and Roman, and he strained his hand across, desperate to reach. “Roman!”

The mindscape shook. Deceit teetered on the edge of the crack, blood rushing in his ears, and stretched as far as he dared towards the one person on his side. Patton stumbled and fell, wedged between two sides of an ever-growing crack, and cried out in fear. The world shook again — Deceit slipped over the side — and the last thing he saw before the ravine closed above him was Patton reaching towards him.

Colors leaped past his face in a dazzling, dizzying array as he tumbled, his stomach leaping into his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, wishing, begging for it to end —

And then it did. He landed and buried his face in the soft carpet beneath him, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning. His stomach attempted to parkour through his throat. When his head had finally stopped spinning, he slowly picked himself up, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

Oh.

__Oh shit._ _

He was completely alone, in a room painted in all shades of dark. Fear and hope collided in his chest and he stepped forward, his gaze falling across every inch of familiarity around him. The dimly-lit kitchen, the gory paintings on the wall (each signed __Remus__ in the bottom-left corner), the all-too-familiar darkness curling around his feet, as if welcoming him back. He let out a shaking breath.

He was home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	24. Tower of Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall get a double feature this week !!! 
> 
> hurricane dorian is barrelling steadily towards me, and idk if ill have power/time to write an update for next week, so i finished it a bit early. also, im... really excited to put this chapter out :3c
> 
> if dorian doesnt hit me too badly, expect an update on friday too like usual !!! 
> 
> enjoy this bit of harmless fluff <3

He was home, but something was _wrong._  

He could still feel the Subconscious tugging at his core, pulling his thoughts out of order, pulling his purpose away. His fingers still tingled with growing numbness. He could see his home around him, but he couldn’t __feel__  it. The air smelled empty and cold, and vaguely of electricity, as the Subconscious had, where usually it stank of whatever air freshener he’d installed to block out the smells of Remus’ creations. The carpet beneath his feet, usually so plush that he sank right into it, remained hard, as if he wasn’t really touching it at all.

“Hello?” Deceit called, and his voice echoed around him. Silence met him the moment the echo faded, another sign that things were deeply, horribly __wrong.__  The dark side of the mindscape was many things, but it was never __silent.__  He couldn’t remember a time when Remus didn’t suddenly appear at any noises in the common room, excited to scare whoever was stupid enough to wander inside. And usually there were at least some noises from upstairs, Rage’s loud music or Remus’ unhinged cackling, __something.__

Silence.

He held his cloak tightly around himself, shivering in the cold. “Roman?” he called, hoping that at least he was nearby. He didn’t want to go back to doing things alone, not yet. “Patton?”

“Dee.”

He whirled around, and a gasp flew from his lips, sharp and pained. Virgil stood on the stairs — __his__  Virgil, not the plaid-clad softened version the light sides had turned him into. His face was hopeful, his voice soft as he called Deceit’s name, as if nothing had happened between them. Deceit lifted a hand to his mouth and stepped forward, eyes wide.

“Virgil?” he whispered. “Virgil, I — what’s happening?”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Oh, how __lovely,”__  said a voice behind him, and he whirled again to face… himself. Cold dread bloomed in his stomach. “The traitor has decided to grace us with his presence. Tell me, darling, how are things with the enemy?”

Oh. Oh no. No no __no —__

“They’re not the enemy,” Virgil growled, reeling back, his hopeful expression falling away. “They… they accepted me. Maybe if you actually gave them a chance, they’d do the same for you.”

Deceit knew exactly what was happening now — and he hated hated __hated__  it with every fiber of his being, and wished more than anything that he could leave. But he couldn’t have left even if the exit was right in front of him; his legs were locked in place, his heart pounding numbly in his ears.

“Oh, sure!” Memory Deceit said brightly, sarcasm dripping like venom from his words. “They’ve only been pushing us away for, what, twenty-seven years now? You’re __so__  right, Virgil, they __definitely__  deserve a chance.”

Patton had done what he was best at: he escaped into the past, and brought Deceit down with him. He’d opened a rift into Thomas’ memories — into __their__  memories — and Deceit had been lucky enough to fall into the most painful one of all.

“They were just trying to protect Thomas,” Virgil said with a glare, his nose twitching with anger. “They didn’t realize that we’re trying to do the same thing. But after I ducked out and they saw —”

“You __what?”__  Memory Deceit reeled back, eyes widening, his poisonous pretense dropping. Hurt flashed across his face. Deceit remembered just how agonizing that had been, how deeply Virgil’s pain had cut him. He thought they were in this together, but if Virgil could try to __kill__  himself without even letting him know…”

“I, uh. Yeah. I tried to.” Virgil shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “They… came after me. They saw how much my input matters to Thomas, and —”

“So they didn’t come for you to save __you,”__  Memory Deceit sneered. “They came to save Thomas. Tell me, Virgil: if you were a less important side, do you think they still would have rescued you? Or would they have let you __die?”__

“I —” Virgil’s glare deepened. “I knew you’d do this. I knew you’d try to make me doubt them. You just can’t stand that I have a chance at a better life, can you?”

“Not when that ‘better life’ is a lie!” Memory Deceit shouted. “Not when —”

He cut off. Deceit winced, his breath stuttering in his chest. “Not when you could have a better life with me, instead,” he whispered, finishing the sentence he’d never gotten to say. That was all he really wanted, back then — to take Virgil away from the lies of the light and the cruelty of the dark, to hide together in the gray.

 _ _“Shut up!”__  Virgil yelled, slamming his fist into the wall behind him. His voice grew deeper, edging on Tempest Tongue. “They care about me! More than you __ever__  did!”

 _ _“They don’t even know you!”__  Memory Deceit growled. “Do they know your favorite movie? Your favorite song? Do they know how to calm you down, or what cheers you up? __Do they even know that you’re one of us?”__

 _ _“No,”__  Virgil said. __“And they n__ ** _ ** _ever will.”_**_**

And that was the exact moment that Deceit realized that Virgil was ashamed of them. Nearly three decades of friendship — of movie nights and sleepovers and light-side-gossip sessions — and of something more, something deeper, something Deceit had almost begun to hope for, and Virgil was __ashamed__  of them. Of __him.__

Deceit watched as his own anger faded, cold indifference layering over his face to hide the deep hurt within. “Fine,” he snapped, eyes narrowed. “Leave.”

Virgil hesitated, a tiny hint of regret seeping through his anger. “Dee —”

 _ _“Leave!”__  Deceit growled. “And never come back here again. Enjoy your __‘better life,’__  Virgil. I can’t wait to see how quickly they betray you.”

“Fine,” Virgil sneered. “Not like I’d ever want to come back anyway.”

And he vanished. Memory Deceit’s pretense dropped immediately, and he dropped to the floor, a furious sob breaking in his chest. Deceit kneeled beside his past self, letting out a long, shaking breath. He remembered exactly what came after this: months of depression, of inaction, numb disbelief layered over the sharp pain of losing your best friend. Then came the anger, the fury, and a plan to make Virgil see just how quickly the light sides would turn on him. He couldn’t escape the past forever, after all.

Deceit regretted every moment. Every harsh word that had come out of his mouth and every horrible thing he had done after. He was angry and hurt, and scared — everything Virgil had done seemed to him the most heinous betrayal of all. Now that he had spent so much time with a light side…

Well, now he understood.

The memory faded around him, and another took its place just as quickly, soft colors swirling into place before his eyes. He closed his eyes and shoved the pain away, gritting his teeth as he forced it down to prepare for whatever was coming next. Horror bloomed in his stomach the moment he opened them.

He was in Patton’s room — his old room, before the mindscape had shattered — and Patton was on his bed, crying.


	25. What's The Use of Feeling (Blue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this one: blood, injuries, LOTS of repression and Bad Feelings, one (1) mention of suicide
> 
> /doofenshmirtz voice/ MORE BACKSTORY

This wasn’t real.

He could still feel the cold of the Subconscious wrapping around him, breaking him, dissolving him into the darkness. The scene before him wasn’t real; this past version of Patton wouldn’t be able to see him. Still, he called his name as he stepped forward, his hand lifting as if to touch him, __comfort__ him, before it snapped back to his side.

When was he? He couldn’t immediately tell. Nothing about the scene stuck out, no clues to reveal what horrible memory he’d fallen into this time.

He’d seen Patton cry far more often than he’d ever care to admit. Every tear was marked with a lie; how was Deceit supposed to stay away? He was drawn, like a moth to a flame, to every __‘it’s okay, it’s okay,’__  murmured during a breakdown, and every forced smile practiced in the mirror after. It was ironic, really, that the most __morally righteous__  of them all was also the biggest liar.

And as much as Deceit __enjoyed__  watching him lie — and he __definitely__ did — he was just as much self-preservation as he was deception. Patton would only end up hurting Thomas if this unhealthy behavior was allowed to continue. So… he tried to intervene.

Unfortunately, his methods hadn’t always been the kindest.

There was a reason Patton barely trusted him — why he tried to expel him from every conversation, exclude him from every part of Thomas’ life. He just hoped this memory showcased one of his… __less__  cruel moments.

There were pictures hanging on every wall, with crayon drawings taped up in between. Virgil’s sullen face was nowhere to be seen in any of them. They were wearing their old outfits, too. The memory must have been from sometime before Virgil was accepted. That was a little relieving; Deceit hadn’t reached his cruelest point until right after Virgil left.

Patton’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked up, through Deceit, and his face crumpled. “What do you want?” he whispered brokenly.

“As if you don’t know.” Deceit turned to face himself, and raised an eyebrow. This must have been an __old__  memory, from sometime before Thomas even started their stupid series. He was wearing his old outfit, a longer cloak and a yellow skirt and a hat with a bow. He hadn’t yet chosen to don his snake-aesthetic; the left side of his face was just as human as the right. He didn’t have anything to hide beneath the snakeskin, not yet.

Patton just whimpered, curling around a pillow and closing his eyes. Memory Deceit sighed. “You’re being an idiot,” he snapped.

“Good!” Patton said, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s me: stupid ol’ papa Morality. That’s how things are gonna stay. They’re never gonna see me like this.”

“Oh, you’re __so right,”__  Memory Deceit purred, face hardening. “They’ll never question why Thomas randomly burst into tears today. Just a coincidence that he started crying the __exact same moment__  you locked yourself in here, right? They’ll never make the connection.”

“Then I’ll stop crying,” Patton ground out, swiping an arm so forcefully across his face that his cheeks turned red.

“Or — and I’m just throwing this out there — you could __tell them how you feel.”__

“Why?” Patton said, pressing his hands into his eyes to stop the tears from forming. “So they can feel bad too? Great idea, kiddo! Spreading this sadness throughout the mindscape instead of just holdin’ it all in here, that’ll really help.”

Deceit watched the exchange silently, dread filling his chest. He’d forgotten how __deeply__  unhealthy Patton had been. Memory Deceit threw his hands up in the air and began to pace, frustration laced across his face.

“So you’re going to continue to let Thomas’ emotions fall into chaos? Until what? Until he breaks down? Until he kills himself?” He whirled around, facing Patton, and Patton stood, throwing his pillow down on his bed. “Morality —”

“You shut up,” Patton said, his voice low and haggard. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Are you sure?” Memory Deceit snapped. “Because — and correct me if I’m wrong — it __looks__  like Thomas is already starting to fall apart. You’re only hurting him by bottling this up —”

“Then I’ll stop feeling it at all!” Patton said, his hands balling into fists by his sides. “I’ll be his happy pappy papa __forever,__  and nothing else!”

“Are you __kidding?”__  Memory Deceit cried. “Why don’t you just take my role as Deceit, then, if you’re so keen on lying?”

 _ _“I’m not lying!”__  Patton yelled. “I’m not — I’m not lying if the feelings aren’t there in the first place. I’ll just —”

“You’ll just __what?”__  Memory Deceit snapped. “Repress your sadness even further? Hurt Thomas even more? Brilliant plan, Morality, __really.”__  He clapped once, furious sarcasm dripping from his words. “Does it pain you that much to admit that I’m right and get __help?”__

“You’re not right!” Patton scrubbed his hands over his eyes again and again, his chest heaving. Memory Deceit growled, striding forward and grabbing Patton’s arm to yank him forcefully over to the mirror.

“Look at yourself!” he yelled, arms wrapping around Patton’s shaking form to keep him from turning away. His fingernails dug into Patton’s arms; Deceit could see how sharply he winced. “Does this look healthy to you?”

In a flash of pain, Deceit realized what memory he was watching. He lifted a hand to his eye, to the scar hidden beneath a layer of shapeshifted snakeskin, and took a step back on instinct. Of __course.__  Of all the arguments to have to relive, he had to watch the most painful of them all.

“Shut up!” Patton cried, struggling in Memory Deceit’s grip, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I’m fine! __I’m fine!”__

And with a cry of anger-sadness-desperation-fury, he twisted Memory Deceit around and __shoved.__

The mirror was beautiful as it shattered, shards of glass flying through the air in a kaleidoscope of colors. They caught the light as they twirled and twinkled like a million stars, falling, falling —

And with a cry of pain, Memory Deceit fell too.

Patton stumbled backwards, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. He lifted a hand to his face and shook, his chest heaving with sobs. “D-Deceit —”

 _ _“Yes,”__  Memory Deceit ground out, his voice thick with pain. He pulled a shard of glass from beneath his eye and stood, crimson tears slipping down his cheeks, staining his cloak with streaks of scarlet. “I’d say this is __perfectly fine.”__

He vanished with a whirl of his cloak, and the memory shattered, Patton’s final sob echoing around Deceit as he plunged back into darkness.


	26. If I'm Being Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (@ the person who asked what's with all the su song titles
> 
> each arc's titles are going to be based off of songs/things associated with the side the arc revolves around! or, at least, mostly. so roman's was all disney and broadway (mostly broadway sksksk) and now patton's is steven universe and dodie! 
> 
> virgil's is gonna be entirely mcr :3c)

He landed in a courtroom.

This was a __much__  more recent memory, close enough that he could remember almost every word his past-self said. The kangaroo court, where nothing made sense and every word, every action was meant to hurt one another. Where he’d managed to hurt all of the sides, __and__  Thomas, all at once. He’d been proud of that, once upon a time.

Now he was just tired.

He stepped past Logan — trapped in a chair in the very back, seething, his hands curled tightly around the arms of his chair. His knuckles were stark white. This must have been one of the final straws; Deceit could practically __hear__  the way Rage must have twisted this moment, wrapping barbs of fury around Logic’s core until he snapped. That was his fault, wasn’t it?

He watched as he flung cruel words at Patton as casually as though he was reciting the day’s weather, planting seeds of doubt that would grow and twist, and leave him the vulnerable husk he’d become. And as he drowned Roman in sickly-sweet sympathy, a puppet-master tugging the broken prince’s strings and not caring as they frayed. And as he cut Virgil where he knew it would hurt, taunting him with a past he only wanted to forget.

Rage and Logan had done the dirty work for him, but — he was the one who left the light sides vulnerable in the first place. He was just as much at fault as they were.

Did that matter? He was an Other, after all — and not only that, but he was __deception.__  He was made to twist words and feelings and actions until he got exactly what he wanted, until the playing field was so muddied with lies that he could be the only victor. Heeding the feelings of others wasn’t exactly in the job description; he certainly hadn’t ever cared before.

Why, then, did his stomach twist with every word that came out of his past-self’s mouth? Why did it all feel so __wrong?__ This symphony of manipulation, tearing them all apart — he’d written it to help __Thomas.__  He’d only been looking out for him. There was nothing wrong with that.

He watched as Thomas appeared on the stand, as he crumbled and broke. “I’m a liar,” he said; his words caught in his throat and shattered, dripping with self-hatred. “I’m a __liar.”__

He was only looking out for Thomas. That was his one goal. The one thing he wanted more than anything else.

His past-self cackled, his victorious grin threaded with venom.

He only wanted Thomas to be __safe.__

Thomas dragged a hand across his face, his eyes slipping shut to hide the frustrated tears pooling in the corners.

He reached the front of the courtroom and stood beside himself, cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Thomas… wasn’t safe. He wasn’t __happy.__  Not like this.

“Dee?”

He whirled around. Roman sat in the front row, his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes wide and haunted. This was __his__  Roman — silver hair and white scales and a worried face pinched with regret. The relief at seeing him paled in comparison to his worry; Roman looked downright __dreadful.__

“Roman?” He stepped forward. “Are you…?”

“I’m me, yes,” he said, dropping his face back into the crook of his arm as Deceit sat beside him. “How many memories have you had to live through?”

“Two,” Deceit said, and offered no further exposition. “You?”

“Three. I —” His voice broke and he sniffled into his arm, and suddenly Deceit felt like they were back in the tower, like Roman had been broken all over again. Had all their progress been rewound by a few memories? His eyebrows furrowed, and he lifted a hand, hesitating just above Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman…?”

“I —” Roman laughed bitterly. “I was a-a __monster,__  Dee.”

Dee blinked. “What?”

“I was so — so __cruel,”__  he whispered into his arms, his voice so muffled that Deceit could barely hear him. “To Virgil. To Logan. To __everyone.__  How could I — how did I not realize how __horrible__  I was being?”

Deceit watched his past-self as his gloating grin slipped off his face, as Roman gave the sentence. He watched the pain on each of their faces, and knew, for once, __exactly__  how Roman felt.

“You thought you were doing the right thing,” he said, not looking at Roman but rather at himself.

“That doesn’t justify it,” he said sharply, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. “I never even realized how much I was hurting them. Virgil — he never hurt me, not once, not until I drew first blood. And Logan, he was just doing his job, and I —”

“Roman,” Deceit said, as the courtroom disappeared and they reappeared on Thomas’ couch. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

“Not — not like this,” Roman insisted, his voice strangled. “I… I threatened to __kill__  Virgil. To slay him like the villain I thought he was. What if I had —”

“You didn’t,” Deceit said. The memory was quickly coming to an end; he blatantly ignored his past-self’s loud frustration and focused solely on resolving this new problem before the next memory dragged them through the dirt all over again. “And once you realized you were wrong, you worked tirelessly to make sure Virgil felt welcome, didn’t you?

“I… yes, but —”

“And right now, are we not working tirelessly to bring Logan back to the light?”

“Yes,” Roman said softly.

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “That’s __so__  monstrous of you, Roman.”

Roman didn’t respond. He lifted his head to look at the memory-sides before them. His gaze caught on Logan and lingered, stuck.

“I’m not saying you weren’t wrong in the past,” Deceit said, “but you’re not the person you used to be. You’ve changed. I know that. I’m certain Virgil knows that. And Logan… we’ll make him realize. It’s your actions __now__  that define you, Roman, not your past mistakes.”

The words were meant for Roman, but they wrapped around his own heart and squeezed, tangling with the doubt in his lungs.

Roman sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I… I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for the apology, it was __so__  necessary,” Deceit said smoothly, standing as the memory began to fade. Roman took his outstretched hand and laced their fingers together. Deceit realized with a dull start that he couldn’t feel Roman’s touch; the Subconscious was still doing its job, and the numbness had spread up into his forearms.

But it didn’t matter.

The next memory appeared around them, colors swirling and slotting into place, and Deceit only had a moment to feel relieved that Roman was still with him before cold dread seeped into his lungs.

They were in Logan’s room.

 


	27. Everything Stays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! im sorry this is a day late — yesterday was,,, quite the day, and by the time i'd realized that i forgot to post, it was already too late. 
> 
> im not,,, too happy with the way this chapter turned out, but i think its okay!! i hope yall enjoy :3

They were in Logan’s room, and Rage was laying on his bed.

 _ _“You!”__  Roman growled, his sword appearing in his hand in a shower of sparks. He leveled it at Rage’s throat, fury twitching across his face. Rage looked right through him, his eyes bored and impatient.

“It’s just a memory,” Deceit said, stepping up beside Roman and looking down at Rage, disdain wrinkling his nose. “He can’t see you.”

 _ _“I’ll make him see me,”__  Roman ground out, his eyes narrowing. He pressed the edge of his sword against Rage’s throat, and it slipped right through, phasing through Rage’s skin as if it didn’t even exist.

“Roman,” Deceit said. “There’s _ _nothing__  you can do.”

Roman’s sword vanished. He didn’t tear his eyes from Rage, his hands curling into tight, shaking fists. “I hate this,” he whispered, glaring at Rage with more fury than Deceit had ever seen on his face. Rage blinked — for a moment, it seemed he had almost heard Roman —

And then he grinned, his eyes sparkling behind his sunglasses. He shifted on the bed, the very epitome of casual cruelty. “Did you have fun in your backseat, Logic?”

“Logan,” Roman whispered, turning. Logan stood before them, his shoulders stiffly squared, his eyes rimmed with red. He glared at Rage like he was a particularly disgusting insect, hissing out a sigh.

“Get out.”

“You must’ve had such a good time being ignored all day long,” Rage said nonchalantly, studying his fingernails. “You could’ve helped. It must piss you off __so much__  that they didn’t include you.”

Logan’s hands curled into tight fists. Deceit took one of Roman’s shaking hands in his own as Roman stared at Logan, his expression crestfallen. “Deceit was pulling the strings,” Logan said, and Deceit’s heart gave a traitorous squeeze. __“He__  prevented me from being included.”

Rage raised an eyebrow. “Really,” he deadpanned. “Did he? Didn’t __Patton__  say he didn’t want you there?”

Deep hurt flashed across Logan’s face and vanished in an instant, and poisonous regret crawled up Deceit’s throat. “Falsehood,” he ground out. __“Deceit__  is the one who said Patton didn’t want me there. He is hardly a reputable source.”

“But it __makes sense,__ doesn’t it?” Rage slid smoothly off the bed, brushing a hand casually down his shirt, and took a step towards Logan. Logan stepped back, eyes widening infinitesimally, and Roman’s grip on Deceit’s hand tightened. “Including you was just a courtesy that they’re not extending anymore. They make it __pretty__  clear you weren’t being listened to.”

“For someone who claims to not be affiliated with Deceit, you certainly lie a lot.” Logan yanked his tie into place and met Rage’s venomous glare, his eyes narrowed. “They listen. They just —”

“Then why didn’t anyone ask for your input?” Rage growled. “Why didn’t they come to you for help? Face it, Logic. You’re fucking obsolete. Either you upgrade to stay with the times, or you become a washed-up relic that __no one cares about.”__

Logan shook his head. “It could hurt Thomas!” he insisted, taking another step back. “I can’t — I __refuse__  to risk that.”

“And you think __they__  aren’t?” Rage laughed cruelly. “They’re leading him to disaster! Take control and fucking __do__  something about it!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Roman said softly, his gaze darting from Rage to Logan and back again. Logan fell silent, desperation curling through his eyes as Rage set a hand gently against the side of his face.

And then someone knocked on the door.

Rage snickered. “You know what to do,” he hissed, and vanished. Logan stumbled, his hand hovering at the side of his face before carding through his hair, shoving it back into place.

“Yes?”

“Hey, Lo,” Patton called from outside. “I’m just here to… to check up on ya! After everything that happened today, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Deceit breathed. __That__  explained why neither he nor Roman seemed to recognize the memory around them. It wasn’t theirs. “We’re in Patton’s memories.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Does — does that mean he’s here? The real him?”

Patton stepped inside, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. His shoulders were tense, his eyebrows furrowed, and he regarded Logan warily, as if afraid he might attack. And — another Patton waited behind him, his empty gaze burning a hole in his past-self’s back. He didn’t enter the room. He didn’t even seem to see Roman and Deceit.

“He’s here,” Deceit whispered.

“Deceit said some… mean things today, kiddo, didn’t he?” Patton said, sitting on the edge of Logan’s bed. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose so,” he said stiffly. “I was too busy sitting in the back to hear.”

And everything went wrong. Logan — with a crimson glare and a venomous voice, his words woven of fire and ash — shoved away Patton’s attempts at comfort and burned him alive, biting back with all the fury Rage had twisted through him. Suddenly he was yelling; suddenly Patton was crying —

Suddenly Roman was shoving forward, shoving between them — and suddenly Logan stumbled backward, eyes widening. “Roman?”

Deceit’s eyes widened. He was changing the memory. Not permanently, of course — that was impossible — but he was Creativity, and he could shift it in the moment, twist it into something different, something __better.__  Deceit had wondered if Roman would even be capable of such a thing, but — he stood tall, strong, __valiant,__  even as he did the impossible and bent the Subconscious to his will.

 _ _“Stay away from him,”__  he growled, his voice low and furious. Behind him, Memory Patton’s breath hitched in his throat, and behind __him,__  Patton’s eyes widened.

“How did you even get in here?” Logan asked, looking between him and Patton with narrowed eyes. He still didn’t notice Deceit, or the real Patton standing in the doorway. His gaze caught on Roman’s stark-white hair. “What —”

“This isn’t Patton’s fault,” he said, taking Memory Patton’s hand and holding tight. He caught the real Patton’s eyes for a split second before turning back to Logan. “Nor is it yours, Logan. He’s __using__ you, can’t you see that?”

“Who are you to say that?” Logan asked, eyes narrowing, his initial shock burning at the edges into something darker. __“You__  have been using me since day one! I am just the __exposition,__  right? The useless character? The one everyone gets to —” He yanked a vocab card out of his pocket and threw it at Roman. “— __drag__  for comedic value!”

The real Patton’s hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching tighter, tighter. Dimly, Deceit realized he should be doing __something__  — comforting Patton or confronting Logan alongside Roman — but… he couldn’t really feel his feet. Or his legs. If he tried to move, he’d surely topple. He tried to call out to Roman and his voice vanished in a hiss; a whisper lost in the endless cacophony of the Subconscious.

“No,” Roman said, his voice ever-so-soft, and Logan blinked. “You were always more than that. You __are__  more than that.”

 _ _“Falsehood,”__  Logan hissed, taking a step back. The crimson glow around his eye began to falter. “You can’t just —”

“Logan,” Roman said. “I know how badly we — __I__  — treated you. I was vain, and…” His free hand wrapped around his sash, and pain flickered across his face, but he stood as strong as ever. “And deeply __insecure.__  Your popularity scared me. I thought I could make myself look better by putting you down, but all that did was give Rage a crack to break through. I know it won’t do much, now, but… I am deeply, truly __sorry,__  Logan.”

Logan opened and closed his mouth several times, but his voice wouldn’t come. It seemed, whatever he’d been expecting, a genuine apology wasn’t it. He looked at Roman as though he was an alien, as though he’d never seen him before — and, really, he hadn’t. This wasn’t __his__  Roman; this was a Roman who had loved and lost and __learned,__  wiser, stronger than ever before.

“I —” It was a testament to his shock that Logan didn’t even try to hide the emotions flying across his face, one-after-another in a kaleidoscope of feelings. As the anger-desperation-fear- _ _longing__  danced through his eyes, the crimson faded away.

“However,” Roman said, glancing back at Patton, “that doesn’t justify you __breaking__  Patton like this. Of all of us, he holds the least blame.”

Logan’s gaze slid to Memory Patton, and he took another step back, his breath hitching in his throat. Guilt flashed across his face, threaded through with dawning horror. “Patton, I…” he tried, his voice thick.

As Logan struggled with his words and both Pattons watched, one shaking, one stock-still, Deceit watched Roman. Though his voice never wavered and his conviction remained strong, his hands had begun to shake by his sides, and beads of sweat shone on his forehead. He couldn’t maintain the memory for much longer; Deceit could already feel it sinking back into the Subconscious, making room for another to take its place.

He didn’t know if he could survive another.

Without thinking, he took a step towards Roman and stumbled. Roman caught him just before he hit the ground; Deceit could barely even feel his touch. “Dee?” he asked, as Deceit fell limp in his arms. “What — what’s going on?”

Deceit’s voice came out as a weak hiss. He could barely hear himself think over the rush of blood in his ears. __“Subconscious,”__  he mouthed, lifting a hand to gesture weakly at himself. Roman’s eyes widened and he heaved Deceit into his arms, holding him tightly even as he shook like a leaf in the wind.

“Patton,” Roman said, stepping up beside the real Patton. “We have to leave. __Now.”__

Patton didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to hear them. His eyes were caught on his past-self; he seemed unable to tear his gaze away. Memory Patton and Memory Logan stared at each other — Memory Patton’s eyes filled with tears, and he took a step back as Logan stepped forward, his eyebrows furrowing. Hurt flashed across Logan’s face, and he swiped furiously at his eyes as they began to shine.

 _ _“Patton,”__  Roman said, grabbing his shoulder. “Please, he — Deceit’s going to fade away if we don’t leave, you have to get us out of here.”

Patton blinked as if waking from a trance, and then jerked away from Roman’s touch, eyes widening. He glanced back at the memory; Logan seemed on the verge of apologizing. “I — I can’t —”

“I know it hurts,” Roman said, “but you can’t stay in the past forever. We can move on, __together,__  but first we have to leave. __Please.”__

Patton’s breath hitched in his throat — a sob broke in Memory Logan’s chest — and the memory shattered around them, sending them tumbling down, down, __down.__

 

 


	28. Ready Now

_“...ceit? Dee?”_

Darkness. It swirled around him, __inside__  him, stuffing his head with cotton and sending numb emptiness down every limb. Someone was talking. He couldn’t hear them. Why couldn’t he hear them?”

__“Dee — Dee, please.”_ _

Dee. That… sounded familiar. He couldn’t place why. __Something__  tugged at the corner of his mind — a memory, a need, __something.__  He was forgetting something. But what?

__“Patton, he’s not… Patton?”_ _

Patton. That sounded even more familiar, lodging in the center of the mess in his brain, a beacon of __hope-fear-danger-danger-danger.__  Patton was… important. Powerful. But something had happened to him… something __bad.__  He sifted through the darkness, searching…

__Oh._ _

Logan’s face flashed to the forefront of his mind and vanished in a cloud of crimson, and he opened his eyes. Roman stood above him, arms wrapped tightly around his shaking frame, his face lined with exhaustion and concern. He sagged with relief the moment he noticed he was awake. __“Dee.”__

Oh. Oh, that’s right — __he__  was Dee. No, that wasn’t it, he was… Deceit. How had he forgotten that?

“Roman,” he tried, and his voice spluttered and died before it even left his mouth, darkness crawling down his throat to steal it away. Roman held him closer and shook his head, his gaze shifting to someone off in the distance.

__Patton._ _

Patton stood framed by the darkness of the Subconscious, his face flip-flopping between guilt and uncertainty and dull exhaustion. The cracks of inky black across his skin seemed to absorb the shadows around him, growing darker, __darker.__

“Patton,” Roman said gently, his voice shaking. His whole body shook, actually; Deceit tried to lift a hand to settle on his shoulder, to offer whatever comfort he could manage, but his hand — transparent and vague and filled with shadows — slipped right through. “We have to reconnect to Thomas and get out of here, okay? Before —”

His voice cut off. He glanced down at Deceit, his eyes shining. It hit Deceit, then, with a dull thrill of terror: he was __dying.__  He was, wasn’t he? The Subconscious was tearing him apart, dissolving him back into the darkness they had all come from. And if they didn’t hurry, it would do the same to Patton and Roman. Thomas would lose three of his core sides in a matter of __minutes;__  then, the damage would be irreversible.

Patton took a step back. “You go,” he said finally, his voice nearly lost beneath the roar of the Subconscious. He glanced from Deceit to Roman and back again, and smiled the most heartbreaking smile Deceit had ever seen. “Go save Thomas. You… you can do it. I’ll just —”

“No.” Roman shifted Deceit in his arms and strode forward, eyes narrowing. “You are __not__  ducking out on us now. We need you, Padre. __Thomas__ needs you.”

“Quack,” Patton whispered, his dark eyes shining. His hands curled towards his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt, tighter, tighter — he went to take another step back and hesitated, his breath hitching in his throat as Roman held out a hand.

“I know it seems daunting,” Roman said, “but we’re going to clean up this mess. I swear to you on my honor as a Prince that we will set things right. But we can’t do it without you. Please, Patton. Let us help you.”

Deceit met Patton’s gaze, trying to convey every word he couldn’t say wit his eyes alone. Patton __needed__  to know that they were in this together; if he were to turn away now, if he were to dissolve into the Subconscious and let a new side take his place, Thomas would never be the same again.

Patton stared at Deceit for a long moment. His gaze lingered on his scales; Deceit felt the scar beneath them burn. He took a long, shuddering breath and swiped at his eyes — and then he took Roman’s hand.

“Okay.”

Warmth spread between them, around them, __inside__  them the moment Patton’s hand met Roman’s — swirling in a dazzling array of colors and lights, brighter, __brighter__  with every passing second. The Subconscious __roared,__  tendrils of darkness lashing out, desperate to pull them back in, but the light was far too strong for it to pass. But though it was bright, it didn’t hurt to look at; Deceit didn’t even have to squint.

Then Patton’s room snapped into place around them, and the light vanished, taking the warmth with it. The three collapsed to the floor, panting, hearts pounding.

Deceit was the first to stand. He shook feeling back into his hands and brushed off his cloak, and internally, he screamed with joy over being able to move freely again. Clarity sank back into his mind, driving back the shadows of doubt, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a fun experience,” he said dryly. “Why don’t we go in there more oft —”

He cut off with a yelp as Roman crashed into him, arms squeezing around his torso and holding tight. He wheezed, his eyes wide; fire spread across his face, burning deep read, and he tensed, arms held awkwardly out to his sides. “Uh.” He blinked several times. “Roman?”

“I thought I lost you,” Roman whispered into his shoulder, his grip tightening. His voice cracked; he sounded on the verge of tears. Deceit let out a long, slow breath, his eyebrows furrowing. The thought of losing him — __him__ , Deceit, deception, the Villain™ — hurt him that badly?

His chest ached. He could barely breathe.

“You didn’t,” he said, lowering his arms to awkwardly pat Roman’s back. Roman had hugged him before, in arguably more stressful situations than this — but never this tightly, never this desperately. Like… like he __cared__  about him.

How odd.

Roman nodded, pulling away. It seemed as though he did so with great reluctance. He swiped at his eyes and turned to Patton, holding out his hands. “Are you okay?”

Patton hesitantly took Roman’s hands, not quite meeting his eyes. “No,” he said, his voice ever-so-soft, and Roman drew him into his arms, holding tightly as Patton shook like a leaf. He rubbed comforting circles across Patton’s back and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, and Patton sighed, resting his head on Roman’s shoulder.

And his eyes met Deceit’s.

They stared at each other for a long, long moment, their less-than-ideal history welling up between their gazes. Deceit’s scar burned. Patton’s eyes shone. Both hesitated, neither sure what to say — or, really, if there was anything they could say at all.

And then Patton nodded.

It was a simple action, but it held more meaning than words ever could. It was acceptance — tired and rusty but there nonetheless. __I trust you,__  it said. __I trust you to do what’s right.__  And though Deceit had spent __years__  convincing himself he didn’t need that acceptance, that sweet impossibility — now he faced it with an aching chest, warmth blooming in all the spots he’d tried to snuff out. He raised an eyebrow, and nodded back. It wasn’t much.

It was more than enough.

It was a start.


	29. Interlude #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey !!! sorry this one's so short,,,,,
> 
> i feel as though ive sorta,,,, lost direction with this story ??? it's so far off from what i had planned when i first started, and now im just sorta winging it, and thats,,, not really working. so !!!! im going to reoutline and figure out the direction i want to take from here
> 
> depending on how long that takes, there might not be a chapter next week, but !!! there will definitely be one the week after that. it shouldnt take me too long to outline, but,,, we'll see
> 
> anyway !!!! hope u enjoy !!! thank u so much for all ur support so far <3

Thomas was drawing.

That, in and of itself, was not necessarily a problem. He still possessed one-half of his Creativity, and though Logic tried to keep him at bay as often as possible, Remus couldn’t be so easily stifled. Bits of “inspiration” would break through on occasion, and Thomas would find himself doodling absently while he worked, or taking down notes for stories he’d never write. It didn’t concern Logic much; nothing would ever come of that sort of Creativity.

Now, he was concerned.

Thomas sat at a desk, surrounded by reports just begging to be done, but he was doodling a __castle__  on scrap paper. Not the sort of castle Remus would inspire; it was grand and __charming__  in ways far too reminiscent of the __other__  half of Creativity.

He had assumed the others would stay locked up in their rooms, out of sight and out of mind, with just enough of their former power left over that Thomas would remain sane and lucid. However, this new development indicated that Roman had somehow reconnected to Thomas, that he was back to normal.

Thomas finished his castle, let out a breath, and pulled a stack of paperwork towards himself. Logic materialized beside him and took the sheet of scrap paper, running a finger along the castle’s highest spire. Could it be possible that Roman had worked through his issues alone?

Unlikely. He had loved to pretend he was capable of handling everything on his own, ever the brave prince — but in reality, his __emotions__  were eating him alive. That was why he was so easy to conquer. Given the circumstances, it seemed highly improbable that he’d been able to reconnect to Thomas on his own.

Which meant he had help. Neither of the other two light sides could have possibly gotten to him; they were worse off than he was. That left __one__  culprit.

Logic’s fingers tightened around the paper, crumpling Roman’s little castle with ease. His chest burned. The one side he’d never suspected, the one he’d left to dissolve in the In-Between.

__Deceit._ _


	30. Sick of Losing Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back (back again)
> 
> i finally have a decent outline! a structure! a plot! so now hopefully — @god. please. PLEASE — i'll be able to continue consistent updates starting today! there's a bunch of scenes coming up that i'm, , , , ridiculously excited for, , ,, so hopefully thatll be enough to get me thru this
> 
> also i wanna get to the virge arc so i can start using my endless knowledge of emo song titles for chapter names sjfhkdfk
> 
> hope u enjoy! :3c

“Do you think he knows?”

It was late at night. Patton was slumped across the bed Roman had summoned for him, dried tear-tracks running jaggedly down his face. He’d fallen asleep not long after they’d escaped the Subconscious; Deceit wished he could have followed suit. He was far too restless to sleep; his near-death experience had left him shaken, jittery, his hands shaking every time he thought about how close he’d come to disappearing completely.

Judging by the way Roman paced and paced and paced, hands rushing through his hair over and over again, he felt the same way. Deceit hummed at his sudden question.

“Who?”

 _ _“Him,”__  Roman said, with a pointed look. “Logan. We all just ducked out, right? Thomas would have been completely without any of our influences. And then we just, suddenly reconnected. If he didn’t notice our absence, he certainly would have noticed that.”

“Perhaps,” Deceit said, his voice soft, thoughtful. “But why wait to confront us? It’s been hours. We aren’t exactly hard to find.”

“Maybe he knows that we know?” Roman suggested, stopping mid-pace to tap his foot against the ground in thought. “He’s waiting until we put our guard back down to strike.”

“Right,” Deceit said, “because he’s always been the epitome of patience —”

“When it comes to strategy? Absolutely.” Roman flicked his wrist, fell backward, and landed in a plush chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “You don’t know him like I did, Deceit. He was almost as competitive as I am. And now he’s not just competitive, he’s __ruthless.__  He’ll follow whatever plan he sees ending in victory, even if that means biding his time until we’re complacent enough.”

Deceit hummed. “So we don’t let our guard down,” he said. “We fix Patton as quickly as we can, and we move on to Virgil. Once the three of you are back to normal, you should be able to —”

“What if he comes before then?” Roman asked, drawing his legs up onto the chair and folding them beneath him restlessly.

“Then you take Patton into Virgil’s room and continue the plan without me,” he said, voice casual, as if he was simply discussing the weather rather than suggesting his own sacrifice. He hid the way his hands shook, folding them in his lap. “I will hold Logan off long enough —”

“No,” Roman said suddenly, firmly. “Absolutely not, are you kidding? He already almost __killed__  you once before, you’re not —”

“He won’t have as much power in this part of the mindscape,” Deceit said.

“What if he brings Rage with him?” Roman asked. “If I remember correctly, he had enough power here to __corrupt Logan to the dark side.__  You can’t face him alone.”

“Oh, thank you for the reminder of what Rage can do, Roman. You’re right; it’s not like I’ve been dealing with him for __thirty years.__  I __definitely__  can’t face him on my own.” Deceit rolled his eyes, nose twitching with annoyance, and Roman scoffed.

“I am trying to __protect__  you!” Roman growled. “You have no idea what the two of them are capable of together —”

“Neither do you!” Deceit cried, and Patton rolled over, mumbling something incomprehensible in his sleep. With a long, hissing sigh, Deceit lowered his voice. “What good will it do to face him together? If he undoes your progress, or Patton’s, you leave Thomas back at square one.”

“And if you face him alone, and he —” Roman cut off, closing his eyes and letting out a short breath. “Do you think it will do __Thomas__  any good to lose one of his core sides?”

Deceit laughed, a short, humorless burst. “Oh, honey, __please.__   _ _I’m__  a ‘core side?’ Thomas barely even __knows__  me. If I am… __unfortunately__  discorporated, another side will eventually take my place. It won’t have any effects on dear Thomas’ life beyond a few days of discomfort. You, on the other hand?” He met Roman’s eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an empty smirk. “You’re __important.__  Everything about you is integral to Thomas’ personality.”

Roman stood, eyes narrowed. “You’re important too!” he hissed, hands tightening into fists. Deceit laughed again.

“To who?”

“To __me!”__  Roman cried. “You’re important to me, okay? Thomas might not know you yet, but __I do,__  and I don’t want to lose you! I refuse to lose you! So __excuse__  me if the thought of you __sacrificing__  yourself isn’t one I’d like to entertain.”

Deceit opened his mouth. He closed it, and opened it again. He blinked — once, twice, three times, his brain rebooting, his heart leaping into his throat to keep his words trapped. Roman sighed, slumping back down into his chair and running a hand through his hair.

“We’ll find another way,” Roman said. “I won’t let you face them alone. I can’t — I can’t lose you.”

It would have been less painful if Roman had reached into his chest and tore out his heart. This — this soft openness, this genuine __care,__ it was like thorns twisting through his lungs, tighter, tighter, until he could barely breathe. “Roman, I —” he tried, and a thorn grew up his throat and choked off his words.

Roman sighed. “For now, the priority is getting Patton back to normal,” he said, glancing over at the bed, where Patton had curled up around a pillow, clutching it tightly to his chest. “I… I’m going to bed.”

Deceit could only nod. He watched as Roman stood, as the chair he’d been sitting in stretched out into a second bed. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a third for Deceit, and then curled up under the covers, silent.

Deceit climbed into bed. He closed his eyes, and thought of the desperation in Roman’s eyes, the way his voice pitched with fear at the mere idea of Deceit sacrificing himself. It wasn’t a lie; it was so honest, in fact, that it __stung,__  needle-pricks down his arms. He thought of the way Roman had cried, holding him in the Subconscious, begging Patton to bring them back, to save his life.

He thought of the way he felt for Roman — poisonous __love__  twisted through his thoughts — and thought that maybe, maybe, those __feelings__  weren’t as one-sided as he’d thought.

He didn’t sleep at all that night.


	31. Secret For The Mad

The room was moving around him.

Whatever approximation of sleep he’d managed to obtain — a swirling fog of almost-unconsciousness, laced with nightmares, visions of a void tearing him apart — broke instantly, and he sat up, eyes widening at the sight before him. The room was shifting, growing, walls stretching to accommodate a kitchen, a living room, a staircase. Before he could even determine what was happening, it ended, and he sat in the middle of a perfect copy of Thomas’ living room.

“There we… go…” Roman stood in the very center of the room, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead, his hands trembling as he dropped them to his sides. He stumbled and fell against the wall, pressing a hand to his chest as he fought to regain control of his shallow breathing.

“Roman?” Deceit asked, shoving himself to his feet. He was at Roman’s side in an instant, a brow quirked in concern. “Are you —”

“I”m… fine,” Roman panted, offering a shaky thumbs-up. “Guess I’m not… quite back to… normal yet.”

“Obviously not,” Deceit said, looking around the room. It was massive, a brilliant showcase of Creativity, but he couldn’t imagine how taxing it must have been for Roman to manipulate such a big part of the Mindscape. “What, might I ask, is the point of all… this?” He gestured at the room around them.

“Figured a slice of home would do us all good,” he said, face brightening as he looked over Deceit’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Padre?”

Deceit turned. Patton sat in his bed, blinking blearily, his hair a disheveled, fluffy bird’s nest. His shoulders slumped, arms wrapped around his stomach. “I-I guess,” he said, his voice a crackly whisper.

Roman’s confident smile faltered, but only for a split-second. He pushed away from the wall and sat beside Patton, nudging gently into his side. “Would you rather I changed it back?” he asked.

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Right, because you __obviously__  have enough strength for that,” he said, crossing his arms. Patton and Roman both turned to stare at him, one empty gaze and one annoyed glare, and he shut his mouth, feeling very much like an outsider all over again.

“You don’t have to,” Patton said, his voice so soft they could barely hear him. “It doesn’t matter.”

Roman placed a hand over his chest, feigning a gasp. “Of __course__  it matters, dearheart!” he cried. “Your comfort is my number one priority. I would transform this room into a palace if it would only make you happy.”

And exhaust himself to the point of discorporation in the process? Deceit opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again. His input wasn’t necessary; Patton wouldn’t let Roman do that, anyway.

Patton shrugged, offering a ghost of a smile. The action dripped with lies. “This is okay,” he said, “really. Thank you, Roman.”

He slumped into Roman’s side, and Roman wrapped a bracing arm around his shoulders, rubbing a comforting pattern across his back. He whispered into his ear, sweet nothings meant for them and them alone, and Deceit stood off to the side and watched, feeling sick with inaction.

He’d managed to charm Roman right back to normal, twist color back into the gray. And he knew Patton better, perhaps, than some of the light sides had; he’d studied him, his movements and mannerisms, every little quirk to prepare for his role. It should be easy to break through to Patton, to earn his trust. 

So why couldn’t he bring himself to move? He could sit on Patton’s other side, wrap his arms around him like he’d done with Roman, be as __soft__  as he needed to be. Or he could sit and start a conversation — general cartoons this time, instead of just Disney — and debate until he elicited the reaction he wanted. He could fix this — it was his __job__  to fix this.

But inaction seemed… easier. His doubts seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders, sinking into his bones like lead. Distantly, he realized that being in Patton’s room — surrounded by his influence, twisted into Apathy — was the reason for this new, dead feeling, for the sand filling his lungs, crawling up his throat.

But it wasn’t just that. How many times had he seen Patton in this state? How many times had he refused to comfort him, instead __reveling__  in his ability to make things so much worse? He’d told himself that it was for Thomas’ sake, then, but in all honesty (ew), he’d __enjoyed__  the power he wielded.

Now he felt sick. Something ate away at his stomach, hot and uncomfortable, sending smoke curling into his chest as he watched Patton cry. Way back when, he’d seen harassing Patton as the ultimate act of anarchy — weakening the morals that __society__  had instilled in Thomas. It was a game; he moved the right pieces into place to weave his own victory, to make Thomas doubt himself, to make him __listen.__  

But Patton wasn’t a pawn. He was a __person.__

His scar __ached.__  Dimly, he realized the feeling in his gut was __guilt.__ Oh, how he __hated__  guilt. Guilt meant he had to do something to make it up to Patton, if only to banish this awful burning in his stomach, but what could he do? __Apologize?__  He’d rather leap back into the Subconscious than admit he was wrong.

“Okay,” Roman said, drawing away from his and Patton’s whispered conversation. “Do pancakes sound good to you?”

Patton nodded slowly, pushing his glasses up his face to rub at his eyes. Roman pressed a kiss to his forehead and stood, an apron appearing on his body with a snap of his fingers.

“’Kiss the cook?’” Deceit read, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, __that’s__  not cliche at all.”

Roman scoffed. “I suppose neither of you are going to kiss the cook regardless. Hm…” He snapped his fingers again, and the text on his apron swirled. “There.”

“’Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?’” Deceit smirked, feeling a bit of the weight in his chest vanish. “But I’m not cooking, you are.”

Roman clutched at his chest, gasping in mock-offense. “How __dare__  you?” he cried. “Just for that, you’re helping me.” He snapped his fingers again. An apron, emblazoned with the word “bitch” in sparkling cursive and two arrows pointing to Deceit, appeared in place of his cloak, which landed on the couch, perfectly folded.

Deceit laughed outright, more dread lifting away. “Aw, Roman, you shouldn’t have!” he said with a wide, sarcastic smile. “It’s __perfect.”__

 _ _“’Aw, Roman, you shouldn’t have!’”__  Roman mocked in a high-pitched voice, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Just get over here and mix some batter.”

“Yes sir, __Mr. Good Lookin’.”__  Deceit gave a mock-salute on his way into the kitchen, and feigned a yawn and rubbed at his face to excuse the deep blush spread across his human half.

They fell into a practiced rhythm, throwing quips back and forth across the kitchen as they worked to create the perfect pancakes for Patton. Roman tried to invite Patton to help several times, but Patton seemed content to lay in bed and watch, only contributing to the conversation once or twice.

As the scent of pancakes began to float through the room, Patton finally pulled himself out of bed, and leaned against the kitchen counter to watch as they cooked. His dark hair stuck up in every direction. Deceit hesitated, and then slid a bag of chocolate chips down the counter towards him, quirking an eyebrow.

“You still like chocolate chips, right?” he asked. Patton blinked, his eyes wide and owlish behind his round glasses, and then nodded. Deceit nodded back, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“Hey, wait, don’t eat them all!” Roman said, pancake batter splattered across his apron. “We need those for the pancakes!”

Silently, Deceit reached over, plucked a handful of chips from the bag, and threw them at Roman. Roman whirled around, batter flying, a hand clutched against his chest, and —

Patton snorted.

Suddenly he was laughing, great snorting giggles half-stifled by his hand. Roman blinked, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then he began to laugh too, and Deceit tried to hold out, but it was infectious. He found himself chuckling, hiding his face behind his gloved hands to shield himself from this sudden openness. Patton kept giggling until he was breathless, and he smiled long after that, his cheeks dark with a grayscale-approximation of a blush. He glanced at Deceit, and Deceit felt warm hope break through the guilt in his lungs.

Patton’s eyes were brown.


	32. When It Rains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter this week!!! halloween left me completely exhausted and i just did Not have the energy to edit yesterday
> 
> but!! im going to be doing Shatter for nanowrimo this year, so hhhhhhhopefully updates can be more consistent and more often from this point on! i'd say we have mmmmaybe 50k more to go before the end, so it works out perfectly
> 
> enjoy!

Breakfast was a quiet affair, but the silence didn’t seem half as tense anymore. It seemed they’d had their first breakthrough; Patton smiled, albeit not often, and he contributed to the conversation several times, though mostly with one-word answers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, a promise that progress could be made.

And Patton seemed calmer around Deceit, almost, but he still tensed whenever Deceit spoke, and hesitated to respond to his questions. Deceit pretended not to notice the sideways glances, the hints of doubt in Patton’s deep brown eyes, but he noticed each and every one of them, and they hurt all the more with the knowledge that they were justified. Patton’s suspicion was only Deceit’s own cruelty, twisted back towards him.

He shoved pancakes in his mouth and tried to swallow his guilt along with them.

Roman finished eating and clapped his hands together, making them both jump. “Alright! Patton, I have a proposition for you.”

Patton blinked. “Y-Yeah?”

“How would you…” He drew out the word, stepping away from the table and spreading his arms wide. Blankets and pillows popped into existence in midair and landed on the floor behind him in a heap, and though a sheen of sweat appeared on Roman’s forehead, he stood tall. “…like to join me in building the world’s most wonderful, incredible, epic blanket fort?”

Patton gave a breathy laugh, accepting Roman’s offered hand. Roman drew him into a side-hug and offered his other hand to Deceit, a lopsided grin on his face. Deceit could have stared at that grin all day — honestly, he would have loved to — but his gaze slid, unbidden, to Patton. Patton, who tensed at Roman’s offer. Patton, who looked between the two of them like he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there.

So much for a breakthrough.

“Thank you, Roman. You know how I __excel__  at building blanket forts.” He waved a hand through the air dismissively, as casual as he could possibly manage. “I __totally__  won’t mess it up or anything.”

Roman’s face fell. “Are you sure? I could teach you.”

Deceit shook his head. His gaze flickered to Patton for a split second — just long enough to see the relieved look on his face. His chest began to ache; he waved them off and sat back down and tried as hard as he possibly could to look content. That moment in the kitchen couldn’t possibly have been the end of their conflict, but he’d thought — he’d __hoped —__

No. Hope was nothing but a liar, a bigger liar than he could ever be. Nothing would change between him and Patton until he apologized, and how could he even __begin__  to do that? He couldn’t just bullshit Patton’s pain away, and no matter how many __heartfelt moments__ he’d suffered through, he’d never be truly comfortable being __that__  open, __that__  honest.

Roman leaped into his project with a renewed fervor, stacking pillows into grand rooms and spiraling spires while Patton draped them with colorful blankets and filled the insides with stuffed toys. They worked well together; neither had to speak to know what the other was thinking, it seemed, and their teamwork brought to life one of the biggest blanket forts Deceit had ever seen.

Finally, the finishing touch: Roman pushed the tv from its spot in the corner to the front of the fort, and snapped his fingers. The pastel nightmare that was Steven Universe appeared on the screen, and Patton gasped, eyes widening.

Deceit watched from the sidelines. A peculiar feeling built in his chest at the delight on Patton’s face. He ignored it.

“Dee!” Roman called, peeking around the fort. “Have you ever seen Steven Universe?”

Deceit rolled his eyes. __“Unfortunately,”__  he purred, “I wasn’t quite present enough in Thomas’ mind to experience it when Thomas watched it. Such a __shame,__  really, it seems right up my alley.”

“It does!” Roman agreed, either oblivious to his sarcasm or completely aware. Judging by how much of a little shit Roman could be, Deceit suspected the latter. “Come on, Liemoney Snakeit. Watch with us!”

Deceit didn’t dare look at Patton’s reaction. He stood, heaved a sigh, and dropped down into their fort. He grabbed a blanket and sat on the opposite side of where Patton had curled up, eyeing him warily.

“Alright!” Roman sat down between them, lying sideways so he could be close to both at once. Deceit kicked his feet away with a roll of his eyes. “This is a __little__  bit ahead in the series, but it’s one of the best episodes, so. Dee, do you want me to catch you up?”

“Oh, no, __please,”__  Deceit said, waving a hand dismissively. “I __love__  being completely lost.”

Roman ignored him. “So, basically…” He went on to weave the tale of Peridot, a brightly-colored gem-themed alien who had once been one of the heroes’ greatest enemies — until she realized the true beauty of the world around her, and the true friendship she’d built with those she’d once tried to destroy. She betrayed her leaders and worked to save the world alongside her new friends, and —

 _ _Oh.__  Suddenly, Deceit realized the significance of the episode Roman had chosen. An evil, manipulative bastard working with the “good guys” for the sake of the world who ends up, against all odds, enjoying their company despite their differences? Wow, __that__  didn’t sound familiar at all.

So Roman saw __right__  through him, then. He knew exactly how much Deceit had grown to enjoy his company, well enough to choose a cartoon episode that would perfectly explain the situation to Patton without him having to say a word. How badly unaccustomed to lying had he become, if his true feelings were so easy to unravel?

But even as he panicked over how __different__  he’d become, he couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in his chest. Roman… really cared, didn’t he?

He caught Roman’s eyes. Roman winked and started the episode.

As the episode first began to play, Patton relaxed, curling up against Roman with a large stuffed toy wrapped up in his arms. He even hummed along to the theme song, at Roman’s encouragement, and Deceit felt that feeling of __otherness__  well up inside him as he watched them cuddle close, hot and uncomfortable and so, so unneeded.

But as the episode went on, Roman began pointing out the moments that reminded him of Deceit, not-so-subtly reminiscing about their time in the tower and the moments they had shared. His intentions were honest — Deceit could sense as much — but he hadn’t seemed to realize just how deep Patton’s distrust of Deceit ran.

Halfway through the episode, Patton stood. Deceit could see the hurt in his eyes, the feeling of otherness that Deceit himself had been struggling with since they’d first left the Subconscious. He wasn’t ready to know everything that had happened in the tower, how close Roman and Deceit had become, not until he trusted Deceit well enough to trust his intentions were true.

“Patton?” Roman asked, pausing the show with a flick of his wrist. Patton dropped his stuffed animal and smiled, familiar lies laced through the action.

“I’m fine,” he said. His lies tasted sweet, far too sweet; it was a taste Deceit had never wanted to experience again. “Just tired. You guys watch without me, okay?”

“Patton, you —” Deceit’s throat closed up as Patton turned to look at him. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes — his eyes swirled with so many different emotions, Deceit wouldn’t have been able to name them all with all the time in the world and a __Feelings for Dummies__  guidebook.

And then he turned and walked away. Deceit watched him go; Roman’s whispered apology fell flat in his ears. His scar had never hurt worse.


	33. (It Pours)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? two updates in a row? are we in an alternate universe or something?
> 
> im riding the high of the beginning of nano and therefore being uber productive, so !!! u get soft boi hours !!! :3c enjoy!!

Deceit was getting really, really tired of having to think about his feelings.

For the second night in a row, he laid awake, Patton’s face flashing through his mind again and again and again. Guilt, fury, and shame all curled together in his gut, heavy as lead, weighing him down into the bed but keeping sleep at bay.

How was he even supposed to feel, in a situation like this? He’d hurt Patton dearly — he knew that much, knew he’d been, for lack of a better word, a Bitch™ — and the guilt threatened to eat him alive. But the fury curled around it, hot and unrelenting, and justified every action past justification until he wasn’t sure what was right and what was wrong. He was a dark side, for lying’s sake! He wasn’t supposed to feel __guilty__  for hurting someone’s __feelings.__  Especially if that someone had only been hurting Thomas, and Deceit had only been doing his job. Really, who could blame him?

Then came the shame. It was like fog, seeping into his chest, dousing the flames and filling his lungs. He choked on its lingering bitterness. Patton wasn’t the uncaring figurehead Deceit thought he was, just as Roman wasn’t the dense, easily-manipulated idiot he’d expected. They weren’t two-dimensional; they were fully realized creations, people in their own right. And sure, his job __was__  manipulation, but now the thought of twisting people he knew so well seemed… wrong.

But how was he supposed to stop? It was his purpose, his one goal: self-preservation achieved through deceitful means. When Roman and Patton had just been distant figures in his mind, he hadn’t had a second thought about using them for his own ends. But now he knew them — or, at least, he knew Roman, his quirks and fears and hopes, well enough to almost maybe consider him a “friend” — he couldn’t exactly go back to treating them how he used to.

But couldn’t he? He knew Virgil, too. Better than he knew Roman now, better than Virgil knew any of the light sides. They had been more than friends, more than lovers, __important__  to each other in ways Deceit hadn’t felt since. And yet Deceit had turned on him in a matter of moments, betrayal fueling his darkest deeds, his cruelest moments. He hadn’t relented for a moment, had he?

And once again, guilt spread through his gut, long fingers of ice scratching down his spine. He winced, dragging his pillow down over his face. All this thought about __rights__  and __wrongs__  — it must have been the influence of Patton’s room, the shards of Morality still left intact corrupting him. And yet he didn’t believe that, at least not fully: these thoughts, these doubts, were far too strong to only be another side’s influence. He was __changing.__

And it exhausted him in every sense of the word. His chest __ached,__  Patton’s face appearing in his mind yet again. Was he just as torn, just as unsure as Deceit? Did he feel just as uneasy, just as guilty over their past? Or was it just the sight of Deceit that reminded him of the worst times in his life, making him so uncomfortable?

And why should his discomfort make Deceit feel bad? Why should he feel responsible for Patton’s feelings? He’d once reveled in his ability to make the other side squirm, to take him out of his element and watch him crumble. Great __society__  and its teachings, wrapped up in one being, left trembling at the mere sight of him. He should have been __proud.__

Guilt, fury, shame. The cycle continued. With a long, heavy sigh, he sat up; he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night.

Past the little alcove Roman had made for their beds, the living room stretched, empty and cold. Roman had vanished their fort with a flick of his wrist not long after Patton had gone to bed, but the blankets remained, piled into a big heap in the middle of the floor. Deceit stood, quietly making his way over to the limp, past Roman’s grand bed and Patton’s empty one, and —

Wait.

The lump of blankets moved as he approached, and a face appeared, squinting brown eyes and a mop of dark hair. Deceit jumped back, hissing in surprise, and Patton sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice so quiet that Deceit could barely hear him. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Deceit said, turning up his nose and crossing his arms. “I don’t get scared.”

Patton raised an eyebrow. Deceit changed the subject.

“What are you doing on the floor? You have a perfectly __uncomfortable__  bed right over there.” He jerked his thumb back towards their beds. Roman snored loudly, as if to accentuate his point. Patton shrugged, flopping back down sideways into his blanket nest.

“Sometimes you needta be on the floor,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice that suggested he was imparting upon Deceit some of the greatest wisdom of the universe.

“Ah.” Deceit shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll. Ah. I’ll leave you to it, them.” He turned to leave, but Patton shifted behind him, pushing himself back up.

“Deceit,” he said, just loud enough that Deceit hesitated, “why don’t you, uh…” He patted the blankets next to him and tried for an inviting smile.

Deceit froze. He blinked once, twice, his brain catching up to the sight before him. “You… want me to sit with you?” he asked, dumbfounded. __“Why?”__

Patton shrugged again.

“I —” Deceit rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain. Maybe this was the breakthrough he’d been looking for? Or maybe — maybe it was some sort of trap, just a way for Patton to get rid of him for good. Even as Apathy, he held ridiculous amounts of power over the mindscape. He could send Deceit back to the dark sides, or, worse yet — back to the Subconscious. Fear rose in Deceit’s chest and crawled up his throat as visions of darkness — horrible, freezing darkness, tearing him apart — flashed through his mind.

“Deceit,” Patton said again. “Please?”

Deceit dropped to the floor a few feet away from Patton, at the very edge of the blanket nest. He folded his legs beneath himself and sat stiffly, his back straight, his shoulders tense. “There,” he said, risking a glance at Patton. “I’m sitting.”

Patton hummed.

They sat in silence for a long while. Deceit’s heart pounded in his throat. Finally, when he could take the silence no longer, he drew upon some of the bravado that used to fuel him when he was with the Others and turned to Patton. “Is there a point to this?”

Patton hummed again, looking up at him from his mound of blankets. “No,” he said softly. “Does there have to be?”

“I guess not.”

Patton nodded. “My turn,” he said, and Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Why are you doing this?”

Ah. There it was: Patton’s true motive, revealed in a matter of moments. It was serious-talk-time, Deceit’s __favorite__  time. “Sitting? Because you asked me to.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Patton said, and there was a hint of the stern edge he used to have in his voice. “You’ve never been the type to just… act heroically without incentive. You always have some sorta ulterior motive.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.” Patton shot him a look, and he sighed. “Perhaps my incentive is simply to see Thomas safe and healthy again. Perhaps, this one time, I’m actually on your side. Difficult to believe, I know.”

Patton hesitated. “Or maybe you’re just trying to build us back up so the… __Others__  can break us all over again,” Patton said, pulling his blankets tighter around himself. Deceit laughed outright, shaking his head.

“Roman said the exact same thing,” he said. “Right after I, let’s see… trekked through his entire realm, fought a dragon, sprained my ankle, trapped myself in a tower with him and dedicated myself to bringing him back to his former glory. You’re __right,__  that’s definitely a reasonable amount of effort to put in just to see someone else tear you down again.”

“See, that’s the thing!” Patton said suddenly, sitting up, “Why __would__  you put in that much effort? You’ve never — I mean, sure, you can be a lil’ extra, but not —” He cut off, taking a breath. “Why didn’t you just stay with them? Wouldn’t that be… easier?”

Such apathetic thinking. Deceit laughed, humorless and breathy. “Perhaps it would be easier,” he said, “if Logan hadn’t kicked me out.”

Patton’s breath hitched, sadness swirling in his eyes. He tightened his grip on his blankets, tighter, tighter, until his knuckles turned white and his hands began to shake. The mention of Logan, it seemed, had done nothing but amplify his pain. Deceit sighed.

“Besides that.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You said it yourself: my one goal is self-preservation. I want Thomas to be __safe,__ and he’s… nothing without you. I’m just doing my job.”

Patton didn’t respond. His gaze traveled to Roman, curled up in his bed, mumbling something in his sleep about koalas. The barest ghost of a fond smile passed Deceit’s face, and warmth bloomed in his chest. He didn’t realize Patton’s gaze had shifted to him until the other sighed.

“You’re so… different,” he said. “I… I want to believe that you’ve changed, I want to — to believe in __you,__  I just —”

“I know,” Deceit said. “Our friendly history makes it oh-so-easy to trust me.”

Patton nodded. His eyes seemed to shine, as though he was on the verge of tears. “You seem so much… __lighter__  now. And Roman trusts you. But I — what if it’s just an act?”

He seemed to be talking to himself as much as he was talking to Deceit. “I don’t understand your concerns __at all,”__  Deceit said. He took a long breath, forcing bitter truth to cover up the sweet lies on his tongue. He couldn’t hide from their past forever. “I hurt you. Many, many times. I cannot excuse my actions, and… I can’t exactly force you to trust me now. I was a bastard.”

“Language,” Patton said, his voice ever-so-soft. Deceit laughed.

“But this time, I’m on your side. I want Logan to lose. I want things to go back to how they were.” He sighed, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. “I just want Thomas to be okay.”

“Well… I’m with ya on that, at least,” Patton said. He ran a hand through his hair, a shaky laugh falling from his lips. “We were… really messed up, weren’t we?”

“Oh, __no,__  I thought our relationship was the epitome of __healthy,”__  Deceit said, and Patton laughed again, snorting giggles hidden behind his hand. Deceit choked on the butterflies in his chest.

“I think… this is our second chance, now,” Patton decided. “I think I trust you. Or, well — I don’t trust you, yet, but… I trust that you’re doing the right thing. I think.”

Deceit opened his mouth and closed it again, warmth spreading through his chest, into his very core. “I… appreciate that,” he said, slowly, drawing his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He didn’t quite meet Patton’s eyes. “I think I’m doing the right thing.”

“That’s the best you can do,” Patton said with a nod. Deceit tried for a smile, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m…” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Patton shifted, freeing one of his hands from his blanket mound. He set it atop Deceit’s hand, curling his fingers through Deceit’s, warm and soft and ever-so-gentle. Dee met his eyes, shivering at the sudden contact, warmth shooting up and down his arm. “Me too,” Patton said, gaze roaming over the scales on Deceit’s face, certainly searching for a hint of what laid beneath.

The moment passed. Patton took his hand back, offered a quick, unsure smile, and stood, taking his blankets with him. “Do you really not know how to build blanket forts?” he asked as Deceit pushed himself to his feet.

Deceit laughed. “Oh, of __course__  I do,” he said. “I had so many opportunities to, growing up with Remus and Virgil.”

Patton gasped. “I’m teaching you,” he promised. “You haven’t __lived__  until you’ve built a blanket fort.”

Deceit rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Goodnight, Patton.”

Patton plopped down onto his bed, curling up among his many, many blankets. “Gnite, Deceit.”

Guilt, fury, shame — warmth. The cycle broken, Deceit slid back beneath his covers, heavy with a feeling he couldn’t quite place. To his right, Roman rolled over and mumbled something unintelligible, and the feeling grew. It was the same feeling he’d felt trapped in the tower, dancing with Roman — the same feeling he felt every time Roman smiled.

He glanced over at Patton’s sleeping form, and froze.

__Shit._ _


	34. Lemon Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i had a bunch extra written out and then. my brain decided to assault me with a completely new storyline. so uh, mamma mia! here we go again! i managed to outline the new arc so updates should remain consistent (possibly moreso, with nano and my renewed excitement for this new section)!!
> 
> no need to worry though, this new arc is completely tame. i got a bit tired of all the angst, yknow? time for some... fluff. yes, definitely fluff, and nothing else :3c
> 
> enjoy!

Deceit awoke to a note on his pillow.

It was crumpled, half-buried beneath his blankets, but he recognized Roman’s looping handwriting even in the lingering fog of sleep. He sat up, shoving his unruly hair out of his face, and unfolded the paper.

“Gone out for some Stuff™,” it proclaimed, trademark sign and all, in Roman’s bold crimson lettering. “Trust me. I have an idea.”

Deceit sighed. Leave it to Roman to leave on a whim without telling anyone where he was going. “P.S.,” the letter continued. “Good job last night. I’m proud of you. ;).”

A winky face? What was _that_  supposed to mean? Had Roman been awake the whole time? Deceit had heard him talking in his sleep, just like he always did. Was he faking it? How deceitful. He would have been proud, if he wasn’t so busy working on his tomato impression.

“Ngh…” Patton groaned, slowly pushing himself up, and Deceit quickly pretended to yawn to excuse the redness on his cheeks. Patton’s hair was twice as fluffy as it had been the night before; Deceit was hit by the sudden urge to summon a hairbrush and brush it back down. “Where’s Roman?”

Deceit shrugged, gesturing to the letter without showing Patton what it said. “He’s ‘gone out,’ apparently. Lovely of him to leave such an eloquent explanation.”

“Oh.” Patton sat for a moment, silent. “What if he runs into —”

“He won’t,” Deceit said, “and if he does, he can handle himself.” He forced the doubt from his eyes and met Patton’s worried gaze, holding steady until Patton nodded, seemingly comforted. It was only when Patton looked away that he allowed his head to dip, fear eating away at his stomach. _Would_  Roman be able to handle himself if he ran into Logan? Or, worse yet, Rage? Or would they break him back down to square one, leaving Deceit to fix their mess all over again? He could barely fathom the thought. His bones ached with exhaustion.

And yet, he’d do it. For Roman, he’d do it a hundred times over.

Patton rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “I guess it’s just us for now, huh?” he said, more to himself than to Deceit.

Deceit nodded. “I suppose so,” he said, shoulders stiffening ever-so-slightly at the tone in Patton’s voice. Had all their progress vanished overnight? Perhaps Patton had been too tired to truly experience their conversation, or —

“You wanna help me make breakfast, Dee?”

Or maybe everything was fine. Deceit blinked, raising an eyebrow. “I _definitely_  know how to cook,” he said.

“You helped Roman with the pancakes yesterday, didn’t ya?” Patton asked, pursing his lips. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“Handing him the correct ingredients when he asks hardly counts as _cooking,”_  he said. “Besides, it’s… impossible to say no to Roman.”

Patton hummed, shooting Deceit an all-too- _knowing_  look, and Deceit looked away. “I could teach you,” he offered with a shrug and an inviting smile. “I cook a mean omelet, yknow!”

Deceit hesitated, glancing from the kitchen to Patton and back again. “That… sounds excellent,” he said, and the truth in his words didn’t taste quite as bitter as usual. Patton’s lips twitched, his smile widening.

“Dontcha mean… _egg-_ celent?”

Deceit closed his eyes, sucking in a long breath through his nose to force himself not to laugh. Finally, when his lips had stopped twitching, he met Patton’s eyes. “Wow, Patton,” he said, “you _crack_  me up.”

Patton’s eyes widened. He burst into giggles, a faded pink blush spreading across his face, and Deceit allowed himself a snicker or two, hidden behind his hand. “Nice one!” he managed, his voice still shaking with giggles. “Man, you’re almost as good at _yolks_  as I am, kiddo!”

“Thank you,” Deceit said, lips quirked into a proud smile.

“Like, I know your brain is pretty _scrambled,_ but you still gave it a _fry,_  and I’m so proud of you for that, _”_  Patton continued.

“...Thank you,” Deceit said again, his proud smirk dissolving into a resigned smile.

“Gosh,” Patton said, “I’m just so _egg-_ cited to have someone to pun with!”

Upside to Patton’s endless puns: he was feeling astronomically more like himself, which was good — great, even, because that meant they were one step closer to setting things right, one step closer to Deceit getting to take the longest nap of his life.

Downside to Patton’s endless puns: Deceit didn’t know how long he could handle them.

Patton finished laughing and stood, stretching. “I really needed that,” he said suddenly, turning to Deceit with a smile. “Thank you.”

Another upside to Patton’s endless puns: they made him smile.

“O-Of course,” Deceit said, voice soft as he watched the sun rise behind Patton’s eyes. Then he blinked, clearing his throat. “I mean — ah — shall we, uh, cook?”

Patton came alive in the kitchen. He still moved slowly, tiredly, hints of darkness still swirling in his eyes — but he didn’t stop moving, talking, singing until the meal was complete, until it was perfect. He twirled Deceit through the kitchen and taught him how cooking could be like a dance — ingredients swirling together in a perfectly choreographed performance, a symphony of flavors.

 Deceit fried up some bacon as Patton finished the last of the omelets, and they set three plates on the table — one for Deceit, one for Patton, and one for the empty chair where Roman should have been. Deceit stared at the empty seat for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowing. What on Earth could Roman be doing?

“I’m worried too,” Patton said quietly, sliding into his own seat with a sigh. “Do… do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he is,” Deceit said, though his doubts had begun to eat him alive. “Perhaps he just needed some time alone.”

Patton shrugged. “He could’ve just asked,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like him to just… vanish, yknow?”

“I know.” Deceit pushed at his omelet, suddenly not hungry. Dread sank deep in his stomach, heavy as lead. “If he takes too much longer, I’ll go look for him. Okay?”

Patton shook his head. “I’m coming with,” he said.

“No.” Deceit speared a piece of bacon with his fork. “You’re far more important in the grand scheme of things than I am. I can find Roman on my own.”

“But you don’t _have_  to,” Patton insisted. “I don’t care how unimportant you think you are, you _matter._  You don’t have to do things alone. We’ll search for him together.”

“But —”

“No ‘buts,’” Patton said, eyes narrowing. “There’s strength in numbers, kiddo. If we do end up facing… them, I’d rather we face them together.”

Deceit didn’t answer. He tried, of course — but his words got tangled and died on his tongue. He’d barely spent a _week_  with Patton — barely a day had passed since they’d first talked about their past — and Patton was already _this_  protective of him? Did he seem that useless, that weak, that both he and Roman had decided he wasn’t allowed to do things on his own anymore?

Or — worse yet — did they both care so much that they didn’t _want_  him to do things alone?

The latter seemed increasingly obvious and increasingly terrifying. What was it about him that made him so easy to care for? Had he really changed that much?

Patton sighed, shoving a chunk of omelet in his mouth. “Gotta hand it to ya, kiddo,” he said, a small smile on his face. “This is really good. You deserve a _Patton_  the back!”

Deceit chuckled softly. “Thank you,” he said. “I suppose I’ve got the recipe… down _pat?”_

Patton giggled, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand.

They fell into an idle conversation — nothing important, nothing too stimulating to take either’s focus away from the empty seat at the table. When he could stand it no longer, Deceit stood, eyes narrowing.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, snapping his fingers. His usual clothes replaced his pajamas in a split second, and he yanked his cloak around his shoulders. “Let’s go find the idiot.”

“Hey, don’t be mean!” Patton said, rushing to his feet. “I’m sure he had a good reason for leaving.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he had an equally good reason for giving us _absolutely_  no explanation,” Deceit said with a roll of his eyes. “You know how much I _love_  being kept in the dark.”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t your whole thing keeping people in the dark?”

“Yes. _Other_ people,” Deceit huffed. “Not me. I, for one, would very much like to know what made Roman decide it was a good idea to venture out on his own so abruptly. Shall we?”

He pulled open the door without waiting for a response and froze. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor before him, covered in an inhumanly neat script. He picked it up, dread turning to frozen horror in his lungs as he stared at the familiar signature at the bottom.

“What?” Patton asked when Deceit’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

He read the letter again. Again. Again. His eyes scanned the words with a dawning sort of nausea; the room was spinning, tilting, and he was falling —

“Deceit, what does it say?” Patton asked, voice halfway stern, halfway terrified. With Herculean effort, Deceit turned to him, opened his mouth, recited the letter’s curt message in a shaking voice.

“Cease and surrender if you ever want to see Roman again.”


	35. Into the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my new storyline idea got me so excited i wrote like 5k extra last night in a mad hyperfixated frenzy so !!! u get another update!!! 
> 
> so, ladies, gents, and esteemed guests — welcome to the Search and Rescue arc :3c enjoy!

It was amazing, really, how quickly the world could fall apart.

Things weren’t okay — but they were, really, Patton was talking to him and Roman was proud of him and they were close, very close, to _finally_  setting things right, and a life lived as a rebel could never be _safe,_  really, but they were about as close to it as they could get. They were happy, or at least some approximation of it; moving on from the past, moving on from their pain, building a new life in the ashes of the old.

Now Deceit felt like he was breaking. He paced and paced and paced, the cursed letter crumpled in his hands, the paper worn and weak from all the times he’d reopened it just to crumple it back up again. Roman was _gone,_  trapped in the clutches of their enemy, the _one_  person Deceit didn’t want to face until absolutely necessary.

“We have to go after him,” Patton said, for the thousandth time that hour.

“I know,” Deceit said, also for the thousandth time that hour, “but not without a plan. We can’t afford to lose.”

Patton dropped his head into his hands and shook, fingers tangling in his hair. His breathing was shallow, fitful, panicked; every so often he’d stand, as if to rush into battle, and then sit back down again, restless.

“I can’t get back into the dark side,” Deceit said, “but with you there, we might be able to get the gates open.”

“Why me?” Patton asked, voice muffled by his hands.

“You’re the most powerful side,” Deceit said. “Even now. You hold the most sway over Thomas.”

Patton stayed silent. Deceit kept pacing; faster, faster, as if the action alone would bring Roman back. Desperation chased his every step. “Do… do you have any idea where they might be keeping Roman?” Patton asked, his voice far too quiet.

“Oh, yeah, of _course,”_  Deceit said. “Because I know Logan _so_  well.”

Patton’s breath hitched in his throat, and cold regret seeped into Deceit’s lungs. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice catching on the ‘s’. “I have… some ideas. None of them are good.”

Patton sniffled, drawing his knees up onto the couch to curl in on himself. “Why is Logan doing this?” he asked, and his voice was so small, so broken, that Deceit almost started crying himself.

“I… don’t think he has a choice, anymore,” Deceit said, eyebrows furrowing. “Rage has too much control over him. His influence corrupted Logan.”

Patton hugged his knees to his chest and cried. Deceit kept pacing.

“We could try to save Virgil first,” he mused, more to himself than Patton, his words quick and his mind quicker. “Strength in numbers. But he’ll be _so_  thrilled to see me, and _definitely_  willing to help. Roman’s in more danger regardless, we have to help him first, so —”

He kept pacing and kept talking, running in circles, a snake devouring its own tail. Patton stood again, hands curled into fists, and stepped towards the closed door.

“We have to go after him,” he said again, again, again. “Right now. We can’t plan from in here, and we’re wasting time.”

“But —”

“Deceit.” Patton turned to him, eyes narrowed, face set as stone. His eyes shone with unshed tears; the dark cracks across his pale skin glittered with faded gold. “We have to go. _Now.”_

Deceit could only nod. He had only been stalling, really, delaying the inevitable with all his pacing and panicking. Every moment wasted was another moment of living hell for Roman — and he didn’t deserve that, not at all, he didn’t deserve to be the bait to lure Deceit back home.

Patton only hesitated for a moment as they left, brought to a stop by the sight of the commons, the cracks splintered through the floor, the shattered pieces of his home left scattered around them. Though pain flashed across his face, it only seemed to strengthen his resolve; his eyes narrowed, his hands shaking as he tightened them into fists.

Deceit watched as he stepped over the cracks, realization dawning numbly in his chest. In a cruel twist of irony, _this_  was the last thing Patton needed to become himself again. Apathy was gone — Deceit could feel it in the air, feel the crackle of power as the strongest side returned to his former glory. Morality was back, and he was going to do what was _right._

With a low, shaking breath, Deceit followed Patton out of the light side.

The In-Between was just as cold, just as nauseating as Deceit remembered, more-so now that he knew the darkness that laid just beyond, knew how it felt to be torn apart by it, his very core ripped to shreds. He trembled at the mere memory of the feeling.

“You okay?”

He was pulled from his _lovely_  trip down memory-lane by Patton’s concerned voice. The other stared at him, eyebrows furrowed, worry swirled through the resolution in his eyes. Deceit managed to nod, swallowing hard.

“Fine,” he said. “There are just so many _wonderful_  memories tied to that place.” He gestured at the Subconscious but refused to look at it, terrified to even lay his eyes on the sea of black spanning beneath the bridge they stood on.

Patton stepped up to his side. He laced their fingers together, overwhelmingly _strong_  even as his hand shook as badly as Deceit’s. He placed his other hand against the gate to the dark side, gaze hardening as he stared at the dark spires before them.

“Don’t get separated,” Deceit said, and silently thanked the heavens above that his voice didn’t shake. “Stay quiet, and don’t get captured. And above all, if you hear Remus… _run.”_

Patton paled, swallowing hard. “R-Right. Let’s… let’s do this.”

He closed his eyes, focusing. Crimson energy began to swirl around the wrought-iron gate, pushing Deceit back; Patton tightened his grip around Deceit’s hand and grimaced, his nose twitching with effort. Finally, with a screeching, creaking noise, the crimson energy vanished, and the gate creaked open.

“For Roman,” Patton said, nodding once to himself. Deceit glanced back at the Light Gate, remembering a similar vow, a different time — _for Thomas,_ he’d said once, before his first time delving into the light side. How little things changed.

“For Roman,” he agreed, and stepped back into the darkness.


	36. The Haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains a LOT of remus! and everything that entails — from gore to gross imagery to sexual shit and everything in between. if that makes you uncomfortable at all, please skip this chapter! take care of yourselves first and foremost, please
> 
> for those of you still here: have fun :3c

_Ow._

It was the first thought Roman had as he awoke. Still trapped in that diaphanous realm between sleep and wakefulness, all he could think to notice was how much he _hurt._  Every inch of him ached — from his throbbing head to his stiff, sore feet. He felt like he’d been inverted; his bones shifted, broken, shattered and glued back together.

How strange. He couldn’t remember getting hurt. Perhaps he’d failed yet again against the Dragon Witch? His realm always returned him to his room whenever his battles went south, but he was left to deal with his wounds on his own. Waking up in pain wasn’t _that_  out of the ordinary; ‘twas simply the life of a dashing hero.

Then, another thought, more lucid than the first: he couldn’t remember battling any Dragon Witches anytime recently, let alone recently enough to only just have woken up from it. He _always_  remembered his battles, no matter how injured he got.

A third thought, as his brain finally rose from the fog of sleep: he hadn’t even been in his realm. He was with Deceit and Patton, because —

_Oh._

He snapped awake as the memories snapped back into place, and panic lodged in his chest when he realized he couldn’t move his arms. Sharp ropes dug into his wrists, stained with blood. Identical ropes bound his feet to the floor. The room around him was dark, hopelessly so; he could barely see a foot in front of his face. The air smelled of sewage, and vaguely of copper. It made his stomach roll.

“Hey!” he called, his throat burning. “Show yourself, fiend! You won’t get away with this!”

“Ooh, really?”

Oh. Oh no. No, no, no no _no —_  he strained ever harder against his restraints, desperation overriding the agony racing up and down his arms as the ropes dug into his skin.

“What sort of comeuppance do you think I’ll face?” The voice was achingly familiar, in the sort of way your chest aches after you vomit; acidic, a warning of more pain to come. “Do tell! You know how I _love_  being punished.”

“Remus,” Roman spat, as his brother dropped from the darkness above and beamed at him. “To what do I owe the _pleasure?”_

“Ooh, sassy! You pick that up from good ol’ double-dick?” Remus cackled, leaning against the handle of his morning-star with a casual ease. He ran a hand along the scales peppered across Roman’s cheeks; Roman craned his head away from his touch, disgust bubbling in his stomach as a shiver went down his spine. “Looks like that’s not the only thing you picked up from him!”

“’Double-dick?’” Roman echoed. “You don’t mean —”

“Didja know that snakes have two dicks?” Remus bent over his morning-star, grinning at Roman upside-down. “Is that why you like him so much? I didn’t take you for the type to enjoy getting _two dicks_ at once, yknow, but — hey! Since you look all snakey now, does that mean _you_  have two —”

“Shut up,” Roman growled, nose twitching with anger. “Why am I here? What do you want with me?”

“What, a guy can’t drop in on his favorite brother every now and again?” Remus shrugged, rolling his eyes and throwing his whole body into the action, hip jutting out to the side. “What a cruel world we live in!”

Roman struggled against his bonds. “I’m your _only_  brother, dipshit,” he growled. “What. Do. You. Want. With. Me?”

Remus huffed, sagging dramatically. “You’re no _fun_  anymore!” he complained. “Dontcha wanna catch up? I’ve done so many fun things since you _abandoned_ me! There was this one project I had involving pig’s intestines and glitter, you woulda _loved_  it —”

“Where are Patton and Deceit?” Roman demanded, blocking out Remus’ words as forcefully as he could manage. Remus dropped the intestine he’d summoned and groaned, rolling his eyes.

“That’s the whole problem!” he said. “With daddy Patton around, we're having a bit of trouble dragging our wayward snake home! So Ragey thought it’d help to give him a bit of incentive so he’d come back willingly and stop messing up his plans.”

Horror dawned in Roman’s chest, freezing cold fire eating away at his lungs. “No,” he whispered.

“Yes!” Remus beamed. “And I got put in charge of keeping our bait quiet! At least until Dee-dee comes home. And we get Patty as an added bonus! Two birds, one stone!”

“Remus,” Roman tried, panicked. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Have you ever thought about how _weird_  that saying is?” Remus continued, ignoring Roman’s pleas. “I mean, I’ve _tried_  killing two birds with one stone at _least_  seventeen times, and all I’ve gotten out of it is a bunch of mangled bird corpses! Which, I mean, I’ll never turn down a good mangled corpse, but it’s so hard to hit them both in the same shot!”

“Remus, please,” Roman tried again, his eyes beginning to sting. If Dee and Patton got hurt because he was too restless to wait to go out, he’d never be able to live with himself. He couldn’t — _wouldn’t_  let that happen. “You’re better than this, you —”

“Oh, am I?” Remus cackled. “Yknow, seventeen years ago, I would’ve _killed_  to hear you say that! But now?”

He leaned close, too close — Roman could smell blood on his breath, and nausea curled deep in his gut. He pressed their noses together and giggled. “You’re seventeen years too late.”

He skipped backward, eyes alight with glee. “I’m exactly as depraved and demented as _you_ made me! It’s sorta poetic, dontcha think? Your oldest mistake, brought back into your life by your _newest_  mistake! Man, am I glad you decided to venture out on your own.”

Roman hung his head, burning regret turning his lungs to ash. How could he have allowed himself to be captured? How could he be so _stupid?_ He could only hope the others would see right through his disappearance and stay where they were, that they wouldn't fall into this cruel trap. “Deceit’s too smart for that,” he said, doubt shaking beneath his words. “He won’t risk everything he’s worked for just for me.”

Remus laughed, high and unhinged. “Are you really _that_  dense?” he asked. “I mean, I thought _you_  took all the braincells in the divorce —”

 _“The split,”_  Roman corrected through gritted teeth.

“The divorce,” Remus continued, “but here you are, being as blind as a toddler with their eyes gouged right out of their head! Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

Roman shook his head, clenching his jaw tightly to keep from vomiting. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he managed, as visions of gory toddlers danced through his brain. Remus laughed again.

 _“Sure_  ya don’t,” he said. “That denial of yours is deep enough to drown in! You’re just gonna end up one of those slimy, rotted, bloated corpses floating in a river of your own denial, and they’re gonna have to fish you out, and they’ll find _worms_  in your _guts —”_

Roman tuned him out, blood rushing in his ears. His heart pounded numbly, quietly, as if someone had stuffed cotton into his chest. Remus… couldn’t be right. He _couldn’t_  be. The way Deceit acted around him — the way he _looked_  at him, the way his lips would quirk up, eyebrows furrowed as though Roman was both an unsolvable puzzle and the answer to every question in the world — it was all just a part of his act. He knew he was weak, he knew he responded best to romantic gestures; Deceit was only playing the part. A lie based in kindness was still just a lie.

Right?

“And then — hey!” Remus pushed forward, shoving his face into Roman’s. “Are you even listening to me? Hello?” He knocked three times on the side of Roman’s head and Roman jerked away. “Fuck, Roman, I waste my best material on you!”

“You and I have very different views on what ‘best’ means,” Roman said with a cold glare. Remus laughed.

“Exactly! That’s why the King died in the first place, dummy.” Remus whacked him on the side of the head, half playful, half bitter. “Because _someone_  just couldn’t stomach _my_  best.”

“Remus —”

“Anyway!” Remus jerked upright, clapping his hands together excitedly. “I should go. We don’t wanna have _too_  much fun before Lo-lo gets to see you! Ooh, he’s _so excited_  to talk to you!”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Logan’s coming here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Horror bloomed in his gut as memories — a crimson eye, a shattered sword, words that cleaved right through his very soul — filled his mind. But the tiniest beginning of hope lodged in his chest, a light among the darkness. Perhaps, facing Logan alone… he could bring him back.

“Oh, don’t get any ideas!” Remus laughed. “He won’t be alone. He can’t be, not anymore.”

Roman blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “What does _that_  mean?”

“Oh, you’ll _see,”_  Remus said pointedly, tapping at his temple three times. “Well! Don’t get too comfortable without me here — we’re going to have a _lot_  of time to get reacquainted as soon as Logan’s done with you.”

“Remus, no —” Roman tried, fear crawling up his throat to choke him. But with a swing of his morning-star, Remus vanished, plunging Roman into darkness once more.


	37. Cherry Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: violence and abuse 
> 
> here we go ladssssssss

“It’s so… quiet.”

They stood together at the entrance to the common room, hands still interlocked. A shiver raced down Deceit’s spine. It was completely, eerily silent — so much so that, for a terrifying moment, Deceit feared that they’d fallen back into a memory, that the room around them wasn’t even real.

“That  _really_ works to our advantage,” Deceit said with a roll of his eyes. Patton blinked.

“It does?” he asked, and then shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, no, sorry. You’re confusing.”

The corners of Deceit’s mouth twitched, a hint of comfort breaking through the dread in his chest. “Wow, I’ve never heard that one before,” he said. “Come on. I think I know where they might be hiding him.”

“Where?”

“The dungeons,” he said grimly, his eyes narrowing. Patton tensed, eyes widening.

“You guys have _dungeons?”_

Deceit allowed himself a small smile. “No, we have a basement,” he said, “that Remus decided to call _‘the dungeons.’_  For dramatic effect, I suppose.”

Patton whacked him on the arm. “Geez, way to scare the pants right off me,” he said, a nervous, breathy laugh tumbling from his lips. “Do you really think he’ll be down there?”

“It’s possible,” Deceit said. “At the very least, it’s a good place to start. Follow me.”

Familiarity bloomed in his chest, stiflingly warm, as he set off towards the basement. He knew the way by heart; he’d walked these halls more times than he could possibly count. If it weren’t for Patton’s hand in his and the overwhelming silence in the air, it would almost feel like he’d truly come home for good.

Past the common room, down the side hallway that split off towards each of their rooms — he only hesitated for a moment near the entrance to his room; he wanted to see his snakes, his bed, his _home_  more than he could bear. He shook his head and turned away.

At the end of the hallway, far too close to the basement door for comfort, sat Rage’s room, a hellscape shrouded in crimson and orange. He’d always avoided this part of the mindscape, even way back when he’d been the leader of the Others. He gestured to Patton to stay silent and slowly, carefully began to creep towards the door.

“— your fault!”

The door _slammed_  open with a deafening _crash_ , and Deceit yanked Patton away as Rage stomped out into the hallway, breathing heavily, his dying-ember eyes alight with fury.

“Rage, wait!”

The other voice made Rage hesitate, turning back towards the room, his movements as slow and dangerous as a panther. Deceit’s heart pounded in his throat; Rage hadn’t seemed to notice them yet, but that could change at any moment, if he just turned his head a little bit to the left…

“Wait for what?” Rage laughed, high and cruel and horrible. “For you to fuck up again? Why don’t you release _Remus_  this time? Then he can betray us too.”

“As I have told you a _hundred_  times before, I had no way of knowing that Deceit would try to _help_  them. I fully intended for him to —” Rage strode back inside and the other voice stuttered, broke. He cleared his throat. “To fade away in the In-Between.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be _logic?”_  Rage sneered. Patton tensed, his hand going to his mouth in shock, and Deceit pulled him back as he started towards the doorway. They held a whole conversation without saying a word — _I have to help him,_  Patton said with a quirk of his brow, the deep set of his mouth, and Deceit shook his head firmly. “I thought you were supposed to be able to foresee this kind of shit. I thought you were _smarter_  than this.”

“I-I can make educated guesses based on the information given to me,” Logan said. Anger buzzed beneath his voice. “I —”

A loud, resounding _smack._  It echoed down the hallway. Deceit felt sick.

“Nothing about your guesses is _educated,_ shithead,” Rage growled. “Really, it was a stroke of _genius,_  assuming that the embodiment of self-preservation would just _give up_  and let himself _die._  You led him right to _them,_  and now they actually have a chance!”

 _“Falsehood,”_  Logan ground out, his voice thick with pain. “We have Roman —”

“Yes, we do,” Rage said, “thanks to _my_  plan.”

“R-Regardless.” Logan cleared his throat. “Deceit and Patton are sure to follow. They won’t leave him here, they care too much about him.”

“And you’re absolutely _sure_  that they care that much?” Rage said, his voice dangerously low.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Patton and Roman were… exceedingly close, and Remus swears up and down that Roman and Deceit are —” He paused, cleared his throat again. “— in love with each other.”

Deceit’s whole body tensed, his nose twitching. So Remus _had_  told them about their little confrontation in the kitchen — and now they were going to use it against him. They were going to use it to _hurt_  Roman. How _dare_  they —

 _“Deceit,”_  Patton whispered, wincing. Deceit realized a moment too late how tightly he’d begun grasping Patton’s hand, and he loosened his grip, his anger leaving in one big rush. He felt lightheaded, dizzy. God, he _hated_  Rage’s room.

“Sorry,” he whispered back.

“Love makes you stupid,” Logan continued. “It makes you _vulnerable._  They’ll come for him, I promise.”

“Promises, promises…” Rage laughed again, far too quiet. “Tell me, Logic. Will you actually keep this one?”

“O-Of course.”

“Good,” Rage said, his voice ever-so-soft. “Now. Leave me.”

“Wh-what?” Logan stammered, a hint of panic weaving beneath his voice. “But —”

“I need to think. And you need to rest before we delve into that hellscape Remus calls his room. You can find your own way back to your room, can’t you?”

“I —”

_“Go.”_

Logan’s shadow fell across the doorway, and Deceit resisted the urge to yell every swear word he knew. Shaking, he and Patton pressed back against the wall, eyes wide, barely daring to breathe, hoping against all hope that Logan wouldn’t see them —

Logan walked right past them.

Disheveled and shaking, one side of his face swollen with Rage’s handprint, his footsteps slow and uncertain, Logan walked right past them as if they weren’t even there. His crimson eyes stayed focused on the floor. Deceit straightened up, shifting forward, eyes narrowed —

 _“Ow,”_ Patton whispered as Deceit stepped on his foot.

The whole hallway froze. Slowly, dangerously slowly, Logan turned — but his eyes were closed, as if he expected to find them through hearing alone. When there were no further noises, he turned again, and continued his slow progress down the hallway.

“What the heck was that?” Patton breathed when Logan disappeared around a corner. Deceit shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, though he had some ideas. “It doesn’t matter. Now we know where Roman is. Come on.”

“Wait, where?” Patton asked, stumbling as Deceit pulled him down the hallway.

“The most godforsaken place here,” Deceit said grimly. “Remus’ room.”


	38. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an AWFUL case of brain fog today so. if this chapter's a bit... messy, that's why. im not having the easiest time editing atm
> 
> but this chapter was already mostly done so i figured it was a waste to wait! i really wanna get things moving — theres a few scenes a couple chapters ahead that im itching to write, but i cant yet, not until i get this gross exposition out of the way
> 
> anyway! i hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> now to go collapse into a blanket nest until next friday lmao
> 
> (also we're almost to 40 chapters??? when did THAT happen holy shit)

Roman didn’t know how long he’d been waiting there.

An hour? A day? A month? It could have been a moment or a year and he’d be none the wiser. The darkness seemed to suffocate him. His hands had gone numb long ago from his desperate attempts to break free; his wrists were slick with blood.

He curled up tighter into the corner, his head hung, his breath stuttering in his chest. _Your fault,_  his mind whispered, chanted, a mocking mantra in equal parts glee and horror. _Your fault, your fault, your fault —_

Why had he gone out alone? How could he be so _stupid?_  Sure, he’d had an idea that could have maybe, possibly helped Patton, but he should have _waited._  He should have known he wasn’t strong enough to protect himself. All it took was one distracted moment and Remus had been able to get the jump on him.

And now he was trapped with Remus. His brother, his rival, his greatest enemy. Up close, he seemed more… bitter than demented, more furious than fucked-up. His face flashed through Roman’s mind — _“you’re seventeen years too late,”_  he whispered, and though he giggled and grinned there was _something_  in his eyes, sharp shards of resentment.

Was he still really that angry about the Split? It didn’t seem like him to be. Sure, it had been traumatic, but it let Remus be the thing he loved most in this world: himself. Besides, it had been _seventeen years;_  Roman had already (mostly) let it go.

But Roman had been accepted from the get-go, and Remus…

The door slammed open and light flooded the dungeon, bringing with it sharp spikes of pain. Roman winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught. “What do you want, Remus?” he asked, his throat impossibly dry.

“Remus?” the figure in the doorway said with a low, humorless chuckle. “What are you, _blind?”_

Oh. Oh, _no._  Roman opened his eyes, pressing back against the wall as Rage strode into the room, his thick combat boots slapping against the damp floor. He’d never faced Rage before — he’d never really even _seen_  him.

He wore Thomas’ face like an ill-fitting Halloween mask, twisted into a scowl, deep lines of fury etched across his face. Behind a pair of dark sunglasses, two smoking embers _burned,_  blindingly bright against the darkness of his empty eye-sockets. His long coat, trimmed with deep, burnt orange, swished against the floor.

Roman squared his jaw, eyes narrowing. He would _not_  let this bastard see how scared he was. “Rage,” he said. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Rage smirked. “Yours as well, Princey,” he said. His voice was barely even a voice — it sounded more like the low rumble of a motorcycle engine, deep and grating and _horrible._  He kneeled down, pressing his face far too close to Roman’s. “You’re not looking too good, _pal.”_

“Yes, well.” Roman met his smoldering gaze with a powerful glare of his own, refusing to back down. “You’re not exactly a sight for sore eyes, either — _ah!”_

Rage grabbed one of his arms, fingers tightening around the deep lacerations on his wrist. Sharp agony raced up and down Roman’s arm; he grit his teeth so tightly he felt them crack. He wouldn’t cry out again. He wouldn’t give Rage the satisfaction.

Rage’s grip only tightened. A whimper slipped through; Roman squeezed his eyes shut.

“Rage, stop.”

Roman’s eyes snapped open. His heart began to pound. He knew that voice — terror and hope welled up inside him all at once, a bitter concoction swirling in his chest. Another figure shuffled inside, his footsteps slow and unsteady.

“Why should I?” Rage released Roman’s arm and stood, anger flickering across his face, his dying-ember eyes sparking with flames. “Where the fuck do you get off telling _me_  what to do?”

Logan pushed his broken glasses up the bridge of his nose, his movements tense and uneasy, anger rolling off him in waves. He didn’t look at Rage, or Roman; he stared dead ahead, his eyes unfocused. “If you hurt him to the point of discorporation, we’ll lose our chance to capture Deceit and Morality. Leave him be.”

“Stop being so fucking right all the time,” Rage muttered, punching Logan in the arm in what he probably — maybe — thought was a friendly gesture. Logan stumbled to the side, wincing in pain.

“Logan,” Roman managed, his voice thick with pain. He looked… awful. His clothes were rumpled, his hair a disheveled mess, his eyes deep, dark crimson. The left side of his face was marred with red, a hand-shaped mark across his cheek. Anger bubbled in Roman’s stomach — not at Logan, but at what had been done to him, what Rage had done to twist him, corrupt him into the husk standing before him. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to listen to him. Look at what he’s done to you!”

Rage placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Whatever _I’ve_  done to him was well-deserved, and he knows that. Don’t you, Logic?” He turned to Logan with a horrible smile, and Logan nodded, still staring dead ahead. “I helped him. I _protected_  him. It’s not my fault if I have to punish him sometimes, too.”

“That’s _bullshit,”_  Roman spat. He tuned out Rage’s laughter, focusing solely on Logan. “Logan, _please._  He’s justusing you!”

 _“He’s_  using me? I have to laugh.” Logan let out one, humorless _ha._  

“Right? Talk about throwing stones in glass houses,” Rage said with a snort.

Logan blinked. “We’re in a dungeon, Rage. A glass house would be horribly unsafe.” He shook his head, continuing before Rage could respond. “Regardless. I fail to see how you could be so unaware of your own hypocrisy, Creativity. I seem to remember a time when I was only ever summoned because you needed _help_  with something, to give you advice that you would inevitably disregard. At least Rage _listens.”_

“You’re right,” Roman said.

“I know you’ll attempt to deny —” Logan cut off, blinking. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said again. “We were selfish and cruel. We never listened to you, no matter how hard you fought to be heard. It’s no wonder Rage was able to corrupt you so easily! We pushed you so far away that we couldn’t even see you needed our help until it was too late.”

Logan faltered and Roman pushed on before Rage could interrupt. “I know that I am the most at fault,” he said, his voice growing quiet. “I was a selfish, insecure _beast._  I feared your popularity, so I did my best to stifle it. It was… hardly very princely of me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Logan agreed, still not meeting Roman’s eyes.

“But I think — I _hope —_  that I can fix it. That you’ll _let_  me fix it. It doesn’t have to be like this.” He shuffled forward as far as his bindings would allow, gazing imploringly at Logan and trying, desperately, to make him look back. “We can fix this mess, together. We can make things better! You just have to let me help you.”

Logan seemed to waver; doubt flashed across his face, dousing the fire in his eyes, and cold, desperate indecision followed soon after. Hope burned brightly in Roman’s chest.

“Why? So you can assuage your own guilt?” Rage laughed, high and cruel, and Roman’s hope vanished. He clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, fingers tightening painfully, and Logan’s expression went blank in an instant. “Do you _hear_  the way he’s talking? _‘We can fix this mess.’_  He thinks what we’ve done — what _you’ve_  done — is a mess.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to make things better,” he said, his voice low and bitter.

Roman shook his head. “Logan, no, I do —”

 _“Don’t lie to me.”_  Logan finally lifted his head, snarling, his glare deep and furious. His eyes were completely crimson — even his sclera were deep red. “You only want to bring things back to how they _were.”_

“He fears the power you hold over Thomas,” Rage agreed, a horrible grin twisting across his horrible face. “He fears the power you hold over _them._  He doesn’t want to help you! He just wants to _subdue_  you.”

“That’s not _true,”_ Roman insisted, straining against the ropes. He longed for just a fraction of his power, just the barest _hint_  of his strength, to break through the ropes and punch that awful grin off Rage’s face — but he couldn’t do anything, not in Remus’ room. “Logan —”

“That’s _not my name,”_  Logan growled. “I will _never_  go back to how things used to be. Rage listens to me. _Thomas_  listens to me. I have more here than I ever did with you.”

“You can’t _possibly_  believe that!” Roman said, his voice edging on desperation. “Look around, Lo — Logic! Look at yourself!”

“I cannot,” Logan said, lowering his empty gaze back to the floor. Rage smirked, his dying-ember eyes boring right through Roman’s soul.

“You — what do you mean?” Roman stared at him, his eyes narrowing. His blood boiled at the way Rage looked at him, one eyebrow lifted ever-so-slightly, his smirk haughty and victorious. He tapped at his temple — just as Remus had before. _You’ll see._  Roman thought of the way Logan hadn’t truly _looked_  at anything since he’d entered the dungeon; he just stared, empty. “Logan, can you… see?”

“An unfortunate side effect of shifting to the dark side so quickly,” Rage said. His voice dripped with false sympathy, but his face — his face was twisted, a jagged grin cracked ear-to-ear. “Nothing that can’t be fixed, of course, it just takes _time.”_

Logan nodded. “It is well worth it.”

“A small price to pay to be listened to,” Rage agreed, brushing his hand along Logan’s cheek, his touch ever-so-gentle. “To be _loved._ Besides, he knows that _I’m_  here to protect him in the meantime.”

Roman shook his head, disgust bubbling in his stomach. “You’re sick,” he said, fury grating beneath his voice. “I won’t let you get away with this.”

“As if you could fucking touch me,” Rage said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re a bit late. We’ve already _won.”_

Logan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Deceit and Morality have entered Remus’ room.”

Roman fell back against the wall, horror blooming in his chest. They _had_  come after him, after all — of _course_  they had, they cared too much about him, and now they were going to be captured and it was _all his fault —_

“Perfect.” Rage grinned, taking Logan’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse us, _pal._  We’ve got some wayward sides to catch.”

“Logan —” Roman sank to the floor, his eyes burning. _“Please.”_

Logan glanced back into the dungeon. Roman held his breath — hoping, praying, _begging_  for Logan to come to his senses.

Logan pulled the door closed, and darkness filled the dungeon once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hes blind with rage !!! get it??? g. get it???
> 
> ill show myself out


	39. Turn the Lights Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand now we're delving into remus' room, which means the typical Remus Warnings apply here! beware of creepy imagery, blood, gore, just general Spooky Vibes yknow

The door to the Imagination loomed before them, dark wood stained with something too similar to blood to be anything else. Deceit stared at it, hesitating, twisting dread lodging in his stomach. Behind him, Patton placed a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and his skin deathly pale.

“Do… do you feel that?” he whispered.

Deceit nodded grimly. It was familiar but not, this feeling emanating from behind Remus’ door; almost, _almost_  close enough to the feeling in Roman’s side of the realm to be comforting, if it weren’t for the differences twisted through. Roman’s room, at least towards the end, had made him feel as though anything could happen, anything was possible. Remus’ made him realize: _anything_  could happen. Any number of horrors could be waiting for them beyond that door.

A whole realm where Remus was, basically, God? _That_ sounded like fun. Deceit had never even set foot inside the Nightmare realm when he was in charge of the Others, too wary of what waited inside, but now? Now the thought of going in, stripped of his former power, was downright _terrifying._

But he had no choice. Every moment he waited, wary of danger, was another moment Roman spent trapped inside. Remus could hold a grudge like no other, and the grudge he held against Roman…

Deceit hoped they weren’t already too late.

“Stay close to me,” he said, offering his hand. Patton took it and squeezed tight, grim determination shining through the fear in his eyes. He yanked open the door before he could lose his nerve, and pulled Patton inside.

If the feeling outside was unbearable, this was downright agonizing. Fear sliced through Deceit’s chest, barbs of terror piercing his lungs; awful thoughts buzzed like wasps through his brain. Patton slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his skin shining, deathly pale, in the sharp moonlight.

The kingdom stretched before them was a patchwork sewn of every nightmare imaginable: fires raged across the land, white-hot; hideous creatures writhed through the dark, churning ocean, flailing tentacles spouting blood, gaping mouths whirling with rows of razor-sharp, bloodstained teeth; piercing screams filled the air, hoarse and agonized. At the center of it all was a tower — identical to the one Roman had in his own realm, only built of deep, dreadful black. If Deceit squinted, he could make out facial features sewn right into the side of the tower; an eyeball, blinking, bloodshot, a mouth, agape in a silent scream of terror, blood dripping between the teeth.

“What a lovely place,” he said, and counted it as a victory when his voice didn’t shake. Patton only whimpered in response. “Come on. Knowing Remus, he’s probably somewhere in that tower.”

Patton nodded, but didn’t open his eyes. He looked sick, his skin faintly green. Deceit glanced back at the kingdom before moving to stand in front of Patton, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Patton,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Look at me.”

Patton whimpered again. Deceit hesitated, and then lifted a hand to cup the side of Patton’s face. Slowly, fearfully, Patton opened his eyes, squinting down at Deceit. “Everything will be okay,” Deceit said, sweet lies swirling in his voice. “But we have to keep moving. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Patton nodded, swiping at his eyes — and then he pulled Deceit close, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. Warmth burst like fireworks in Deceit’s chest; he choked on the smoke. “You’re right,” Patton said, resting his head on top of Deceit’s. He trembled, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Okay,” Deceit squeaked when they pulled apart, turning so Patton couldn’t see how deeply red the human side of his face was. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice at least five octaves deeper. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The trek to the tower was a short one, but a _deeply_  unpleasant one. Deceit enjoyed it immensely. What could be better than trees that lunged at you as you walked past, limbs twisting and creaking, sharp as daggers and ready, _eager_  to pierce right through you? Or fires that seemed to have a mind of their own, chasing you through the woods as you choked on the acrid smoke? Oh, he was having _so_  much _fun._

Every instinct in him, every ounce of his role as self-preservation _screamed_  at him to run. A handful of weeks ago, he would have. He would have fled without hesitation and left Roman to fend for himself. But… he couldn’t. Not with Patton’s hand in his, not with the memories of Roman’s kindness floating through his mind, not with this overwhelming _care_  he felt for the others sinking deep into his bones, changing his very core.

The embodiment of selfishness, being selfless? It was more likely than you’d think.

After several run-ins with a hoard of gory zombies and a close call with a forest fire, Deceit and Patton found themselves standing at the bottom of the twisting, winding tower. One of the many bloody mouths built into the bricks began gnashing its teeth as they approached, crimson spittle flying. “Password?” it snarled, in a voice similar to Remus’ but much, much deeper.

“Password?” Patton repeated, eyebrows furrowing. Deceit shook his head, shrugging. What would Remus use as a password? Something gross, most likely. Something that would make him cackle as he forced visitors to say it. He thought for a moment.

“Oh,” Deceit said, rolling his eyes. He leaned in close to a rotting ear poking out of the side of the tower. “Juicy butthole,” he said.

The mouths all cackled in unison, the noise echoing around them. “Welcome, double-dick!” the first mouth declared with glee. All the eyes swiveled around to land on Patton, and the mouth beamed. “And you?”

Patton shook his head. “I’m not saying that!” he said, crossing his arms resolutely.

“Boo, you whore,” the mouth said. All the eyes rolled. “No password, no entry!”

“B-but!” Patton glanced at Deceit. “It’s _gross!”_  he whispered. Deceit held up his hands in a _what can you do?_  shrug, and Patton sighed. “Juicy… b-butthole.”

“Welcome, _daddy!”_  the mouths said. Patton scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Now, was that so hard? Come on in! Have _fun!”_

“I’m sure we will,” Deceit said dryly as the wall slid open before them, revealing two staircases. One led up, a seemingly endless spiral stretching towards the top of the tower; the other led down into suffocating darkness.

Patton hesitated. “Ah… Mr. Mouth, uh, you… wouldn’t happen to know which staircase leads to Roman, wouldja?”

“Go to hell!” the mouth said gleefully. Patton winced.

“O-Oh, okay —”

“No, seriously! That’s what Remus calls his basement.” The mouth grinned. “You’ll wanna head right down. Listen for the sound of tortured screams! I’m sure he’s havin’ lotsa _fun_ with his brother down there.”

Patton paled. “T-Thank you,” he said, nodding gratefully at the mouth even as fear filled his eyes. “I — we really appreciate your help!”

The mouth gaped for a moment, silent, speechless. Then it beamed. “Aw, fuck, what’re friends for?”

Patton smiled, waving at the mouth as Deceit took his hand and pulled him into the tower. The wall slid closed behind them and darkness fell heavily across the tiny room. “Ope! Hold on,” Patton said, and a moment later, soft light filled the room, emanating from a little ball floating in his hands.

Deceit stared at him for a moment. “Did… did you just manage to make _friends_  with a disembodied mouth? In _Remus’_  realm?”

Patton shrugged, nervous laughter falling from his lips. “It helped us out,” he said.

Deceit blinked once, twice. “Right. Yeah. O-Of course.” He turned away, shaking his head. Of _course_  Patton would treat even the monsters in Remus’ realm with respect — especially now that he’d realized that his preconceived notions about the Others (at least, about Deceit) had been wrong.

Deceit let out a small sigh, glancing at Patton, and then started down the staircase. Darkness bit at the edges of Patton’s light, but it couldn’t get through the warmth he exuded, try as it might. Patton hovered just behind him, holding the light close to his chest.

About five minutes in, the air began to smell of blood. A moment later, a scream echoed down the hallway. Deceit stopped, listened, eyes closed in concentration.

“That didn’t sound like Roman,” he said, swallowing hard. The scream was too low, too hoarse, nowhere near Roman’s shrill scream. “It was probably one of Remus’ _projects.”_

“That’s — I —” Patton shook his head, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “At least it’s not Roman.”

Deceit nodded, and they continued on.

Some time later — it could have been a moment or an hour; the endlessly winding staircase and the endlessly identical brick walls gave no hints as to how much time had passed — they reached the bottom. A hallway stretched out before them, doors lined up on either side, thick, heavy things with rusted iron detailing. The smell of blood was so thick that Deceit could have choked on it.

“He’s gotta be in one of these, r-right?” Patton asked. Another scream rang out through the air and he jumped into Deceit’s side, shaking. Deceit squeezed his shoulder and nodded, face grim.

With a deep breath, he started down the hallway. One step, then two — listening all the while for some hint of Roman, _something_  to tell him where Remus had hidden his prince. Another step, another —

The light behind him vanished.

“Patton?” he called, panic buzzing beneath his voice, head swiveling wildly through the darkness. His voice echoed back to him, again, again, _again._  “Patton, where did you —”

“Looking for this?”

No. No no _no —_

Two glowing ember eyes burned through the darkness, casting hideous crimson light across the room. Patton struggled in Rage’s grip, terror shining in his eyes. “Hello, Deceit,” Rage said, his grin cruel and terrible. Logan stood at his side, glaring, the left side of his face a swollen mess.

“Rage. How _lovely_  to see you.” Deceit could barely keep his anger contained, could barely stop himself from leaping across the room to strangle Rage right then and there. He knew that was partially Rage’s own doing; his aura, even outside of his room, was enough to twist anyone. But even without his aura, Deceit was _furious —_  at _everything_  Rage had done, every ounce of pain he’d caused for Thomas.

“You really should keep better track of your toys, pal,” Rage said, looking down at Patton in a way that made Deceit’s stomach clench in fear. “You and I both know how easily they can… break.”

His grip around Patton tightened, and Patton cried out in pain, his voice muffled by Rage’s hand. Deceit’s hands twitched into fists.

“Careful, Rage,” he warned, grasping at straws. “You wouldn’t want to _ruin_  Thomas any more than you already have. Too much pain and he’ll stop listening entirely.”

“Will he?” Rage laughed. “Logic, _dearest,_  tell me: will Thomas stop listening to us?”

Logan shook his head. “Unlikely, so long as you refrain from permanently discorporating his former core sides. We have to ensure enough of their influence remains to keep Thomas stable, but so long as we do not allow that level of influence to surpass ours, he will have no choice but to listen to us.”

“Exactly,” Deceit said, “so there’s no need to hurt him. You have to ensure his influence remains. Why not just give him back? You two can go on your merry way, and —”

“Holy shit, are you —” Rage burst out laughing. Wiping fake tears of mirth from his eyes, he leveled Deceit with a bone-chilling grin. “You’re _begging?_  The great _Deceit Sanders,_  begging _me_  to let _Morality_  go? Jesus fucking Christ, what _happened_  to you?”

“I told you,” Logan said, readjusting his broken glasses. “He’s grown to care for them. Love makes one weak.”

“You hear that, _Patty?”_  Rage said, leaning down until his face was right beside Patton’s. He squished Patton’s cheeks, his eyes glimmering with glee. “This is your fault. _You_  made him soft. _You_  took away his ruthlessness. The old Deceit would’ve been able to knock me down in an _instant_  if he so pleased.”

“Oh, you’re _so right,”_   Deceit said, clapping once, sarcasm and fury dripping from his words. “Giving me something to fight for, oh, how _could_  you, Patton. I’m so _weak,_ now, woe is me.”

Rage raised an eyebrow. “Attack me, then!” he said, puffing out his chest with pride. “You know you want to! Knock me down. _Do it.”_

Deceit’s fists tightened, his hands shaking. I _t’s a trap,_  his mind whispered, and he knew it was right. He wouldn’t be able to evade whatever Rage had to throw at him in such small quarters, and Rage absolutely had _something,_  or he wouldn’t spend so much effort baiting him into attacking. He couldn’t take the bait.

“Or don’t! That’s fine.” Rage looked down at Patton. “If you want to live with the knowledge that you _could_  have saved him, but you didn’t, be my guest!”

Patton struggled harder, jerking his head, yanking himself away from Rage’s grip. “Don’t do it!” he cried, head swiveling between Deceit and Logan like he wasn’t quite sure who he was calling out to. “Don’t —”

Rage slammed his hand over Patton’s mouth again, his grip so tight that Patton screamed. “Stop!” Deceit growled, horror and fury spinning, a tornado, in his chest. _Don’t take the bait,_  he told himself, again and again and again. _Don’t take the bait._

Tears streamed down Patton’s cheeks. Pain flashed in his eyes. _Don’t take the bait._  Rage laughed, turned, pulled Patton away —

_Don’t take the bait_

_Don’t take the —_

Patton cried out in fear and Deceit _lunged,_ a feral hiss tearing from his throat as he launched himself at Rage’s back. Rage darted backward, eyes alight with glee — Deceit barely had a moment to catch Patton’s eyes, to reach out for him, before Logan stepped between them. His face cold, empty, impassive, he slammed a foot into the ground and —

The floor beneath Deceit shattered, and he fell, his own final cry of fright echoing around him.


	40. Shouldn't Be Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another remus chapter — all typical Remus Warnings apply!
> 
> have fun :3c

Roman didn’t know which he loathed more: the silence or what was surely coming after. It had been a while since Rage and Logan had left him in the darkness — and a little less so since he’d heard a scream, loud and pained right outside his door, too much like Patton to be anything but.

The silence was ambiguity. It was suffocating, deafening, comfort and terror rolled into one. Maybe Patton had escaped. Maybe Logan had come to his senses. Maybe they were all okay, and the silence only meant that no one was getting hurt.

Or maybe, maybe, Patton had been discorporated. Maybe Deceit had been, too. Maybe they were _gone,_  lost to the Subconscious, and he was trapped without a hope, without any way to save them. Maybe he was _alone,_  in the worst possible way.

Maybe he was going to die.

He hung his head, the silence wrapping around his throat like a noose. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore; his arms buzzed numbly, blood dripping down between his fingers. The ropes were no looser than they were the first moment he woke up. He hadn’t stopped struggling, not once — not until he heard Patton’s scream ring out, not until he realized how truly _useless_  he was.

Patton’s pain — it was because of him. He was the reason they had all been captured. Nay, he was the reason this had all started in the first place! If he had just _listened —_ if he had just been a little nicer, a little more patient — Logan would never have snapped. Now he’d failed to protect his family _twice,_  and they were all paying the price again.

What if Patton was discorporated? If his core spent long enough in the Subconscious — if no one came to rescue him — he’d fade away entirely. A new Morality would take his place, a clean slate, without any of his memories or quirks or — or _any_  of the things that made Patton _Patton._

Roman felt sick. The last time he saw Patton smile could have been the _last_  time. How could Roman live in a world without Patton? Without his smiles, his laughter, his hugs; without his _warmth?_  He didn’t deserve to face the fallout for Roman’s mistakes.

And _Deceit._  Roman could barely fathom how much he’d grown to enjoy the other’s company, and now he might never even see him again. If Remus was right — if Deceit… _cared_  for him, enough to go against his core to save him, as he’d already done countless times in the past — then his death would be on Roman’s hands as well.

He’d never see them again. He’d never see Patton’s smile, hear Deceit’s quiet laughter; he’d never have a chance to see if their relationships could ever, ever become something more.

He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging at the corners. He’d failed. As their prince — as their _family —_  he’d failed. He couldn’t protect them when they needed him most, and now he was doomed to rot, to never see them again so long as he lived.

“Didja have fun with Lo-lo?”

And there it was. The silence had broken, and what came after — whatever tortures his brother had planned — had arrived. Roman refused to lift his head, refused to give Remus the satisfaction of seeing the fear in his eyes.

“Not talking, eh?” Remus crouched down, craning his neck to see Roman’s face. He knocked three times on the side of Roman’s head. “Whatsamatter? Is your brain _rotting_  in there?”

Roman stayed silent. Remus stepped back, setting his head on his hips and cricking his neck to the side. “Wow, you really are a gloomy gluteus tonight! Hmm...” Remus tapped at his chin in thought. His face lit up suddenly, a gasp flying from his lips. “I know what’ll cheer you up!”

He snapped his fingers, and cackled as a figure rushed to press against Roman, warm lips shoving against his with intense fervor. Roman craned his neck away, his eyes squeezed tightly shut; he could feel familiar scales brushing against his own, digging sharply into his skin. When he could take it no longer, he _shoved_  with every ounce of strength he could muster, and opened his eyes to see Deceit — beaten and gory, his snake eye torn out, his clothes stained with blood — disappear into a puff of green smoke.

It was too much. Roman’s breath hitched in his throat. For all he knew, Deceit actually looked like that; for all he knew, Deceit was _dead._  Tears began to flow before he could stop them. A sob shattered in his chest, a kaleidoscope of broken glass slicing through his lungs.

Remus’ cackles faded. “Wh — are you _crying?”_  he asked, eyes narrowing. “That’s _it?_  No groaning, no screaming, just —”

Roman sobbed harder and Remus’ voice trailed off. It wasn’t like he _wanted_  to cry in front of the one person he never wanted to be vulnerable in front of — the tears just wouldn’t stop coming. The weight of everything that had happened — every mistake that he’d made, every ounce of pain he’d caused — fell on his shoulders all at once, and he hunched in on himself, breaking beneath it all.

Remus took a step back. “Crying isn’t _fun,”_  he complained. “Come on, just gimme one scream? For old time’s sake? Here, look! Intestines!”

Roman didn’t look. He felt a glimmer of bitter relief at the fact that Remus was just as uncomfortable in this situation as he was. He swiped at his eyes with his shoulders, his bound arms twinging with pain at the movement. “Everyone that I care about is either dead or in danger,” he managed, his voice low and haggard, “and it’s _my_  fault. I’m not going to give you any _fun_  while I’m here. You might as well just kill me.”

 _“Kill_  you?” Remus repeated, and for a moment his voice was _different._  For a moment, he sounded almost… scared? “No no no, that — there’s no point in _killing_  you. Then I lose my only _real_  form of entertainment!”

He cackled, and Roman hung his head, sobs wracking his broken form. With a small noise in the back of his throat, Remus crouched down, twisting his body unnaturally low to look into Roman’s eyes. “Besides,” he said, “Rage n’ Lo aren’t gonna _kill_  them. They just need to be contained!”

“Tortured, you mean,” Roman said. He spat in Remus’ face, his glare scathing, and Remus stood.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a shrug, not meeting Roman’s eyes. “Everyone knows you gotta break a few spines to fill a mausoleum! It’ll all work out in the end. Rage promised.”

Roman didn’t answer. He glared at the damp floor beneath him, tears still stinging in the corners of his eyes. Remus hesitated and then sighed.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes and jutting his hip out to one side. “I’ll come back when you’ve decided to stop _moping.”_

And he vanished. Roman closed his eyes, drawing in a shaking breath as the silence wrapped around his throat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are now officially at FORTY chapters????? im. hhhhhhholy shit
> 
> i never wouldve made it this far without all of your support,,, thank you all so much for sticking with me thru this mess!!! i love u alllll <3 <3 <3


	41. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am slowly but surely running out of songs to use as titles here, we're already 15 chapters past my original plan and i dont have a wide enough music taste for this 
> 
> help

"Hey!"

Deceit groaned into the floor, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He felt as though his bones had been replaced by lead weights; he could barely move, breathe, think beneath the pressure. He pressed into the floor and willed his body to vanish.

"Are you dead?"

"Remusss," Deceit hissed, his voice more snake than human, "ssssshut up."

The voice huffed impatiently. Deceit sighed into the cold, damp floor, and -

… Why was the floor cold and damp?

"Would you get up already?" the voice said. "Seriously, all this _groaning_  is giving me a boner! Which is pretty weird, cause, hey, I'm just a mouth."

With Herculean effort, Deceit lifted a hand. "Ssstop talking," he managed, his heart thudding in his chest. Memories swam, vague, at the back of his mind; a scream, a chilling laugh, fear fear _fear -_

Patton was in danger.

With a panicked hiss, Deceit shoved away from the floor - and the chain around his neck yanked him back down. Red-hot pain jolted down his spine.

The voice cackled. "Oh, oh, did the chain getcha? I was hoping it would! Did you break your spine?"

It felt like it, in all honesty. Deceit groaned, collapsing back to the floor. The room swam before his eyes - dark, dingy, damp. One of Remus' dungeons, complete with a _lovely_  mouth to keep him company.

Said mouth beamed at him with several rows of broken, rotten teeth. The wall around it was stained with blood.

"Seriously, did you break your spine? I can't see you." The mouth stuck its tongue out. "No eyes!"

Deceit pushed himself up, carefully this time, testing how far the chain would allow him to go. He could just barely kneel comfortably. "I'm afraid I'm quite dead," he said, examining the room.

It was tiny, more of a closet than a dungeon, with one iron door. No windows; the air smelled stagnant, stale, like no one had even entered the room in years. No immediate chances for escape.

“Cool! I love zombies.” The mouth grinned. “Hey, wouldja mind sticking your undead hand in my mouth? I’ve always wanted to know what reanimated corpses taste like.”

Deceit paid the mouth no mind. He’d practically grown up with Remus, for lying’s sake; he was hardly phased by his creations, the mouth included. What mattered then was finding an escape — and then finding _Patton._  He knew _exactly_  how Rage felt about Patton, and he knew that the longer they stayed together, the more danger Patton would be in.

As the mouth babbled, Deceit ran his hand along the chain wrapped around his throat. It was cold to the touch; his fingers tingled numbly as he felt along the inner rim. The metal was smooth all around, no latch or seam he could yank at until it broke. He couldn’t even stand, let alone reach the door. No physical means of escape, then; he’d have to deceive his way out.

And, well. Deceit was sorta his thing.

He folded his legs beneath him and tuned back into the mouth’s ramble. Patton had managed to befriend one of them simply by being kind to it. They were only extensions of Remus, after all, and Remus himself was extremely appreciation-starved. “Fascinating,” he said, nodding along as the mouth mused about the effects of biting a zombie.

“And I was thinkin’ — huh?” It hung for a moment, agape, and Deceit took his chance.

“I said it was fascinating,” he said. “I’ve never heard such a take on the classic _zombie_  story before. It’s so original, I love it.”

The mouth opened and closed a few times, wordless. Then it cackled. “Ha! You’re just trying to trick me into liking you, aren’t you?” it said, spittle flying. “Nice try, double-dick! I don’t need eyes to see _right_  through you.”

Deceit gasped, playing a hand against his chest. “You wound me,” he said, his voice shaking, offended. “I was Remus’ _best friend,_  once upon a time, before Rage decided to mess everything up. My interest is _genuine._  You can trust me.”

“Really?” the mouth said, tongue twitching in what Deceit assumed was anger. _“You’re_  the one who decided to leave. _You’re_  the one who chose _them_  over _us._  You’re not our friend. You’re about as trustworthy as Ted fucking Bundy.”

It seemed this mouth had inherited Remus’ penchant for holding deep, bitter grudges alongside his sense of humor. How _convenient._  “’Decided to leave?’” Deceit repeated, raising an eyebrow. He laughed humorlessly. “Is that what they told you? Honey, _please._  Logan kicked me out.”

“What?” the mouth said softly, tongue traveling over its chapped, bloodied lips in confusion. “No, that’s — you’re trying to trick me! I’m not listening! La la la~”

Deceit sighed as the mouth’s volume grew. He wasn’t the only _liar_  in the mindscape anymore, it seemed. What else had Rage told Remus, to get him to work with him? What other lies had he spun? He closed his eyes, tasting the air, trying to sense them — but the air was too thick, too full of the lies Remus told himself.

“Believe me or don’t, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” Deceit said, feigning apathy. He twisted his hands in his lap, grimacing at the feeling of his bare fingers brushing against each other; his gloves were nowhere to be found. Rage had probably taken them, along with his hat and his cloak. He shivered.

“You’re right, it doesn’t!” the mouth said, grinning once again. “And I don’t give a rat’s testicle about it. Ooh, I sorta wish I did, though? I wanna know what a rat’s balls look like!”

Deceit stayed silent for a moment, thinking. He had to find _some_  common ground with the mouth, something to work off of. Befriending it might have been his only chance; it was connected to Remus, and Remus must have known at least _something_  about Rage’s plans, or else he wouldn’t have let Rage use his realm so freely.

“So, why are you stuck here?” he asked, and the mouth trailed off.

“Why do you wanna know?”

Deceit hummed. “To stave off boredom, I suppose,” he said, his voice the very epitome of nonchalance. “We’re stuck here together. We might as well get to know each other somewhat. Or would you rather we sit in silence?”

“Ha! If you think it’ll ever be _silent_  in here, you’ve got another thing coming! I’m a _mouth,_  all I can do is _talk.”_ It beamed. “And anyway, I’m not _stuck_  in here. I have a _job.”_

“Oh?” Deceit said.

“I’m in charge of this whole dungeon! Only way that door opens or that lovely little chain around your neck releases is if _I_  open them, and I only do _that_  if Rage tells me to!”

And there it was. “Wow,” Deceit said, hope blossoming in his chest. Oh, he could _definitely_  work with that. “Rage must really trust you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” The mouth laughed. “I’m his #1 Guard Mouth. It’s a high honor.”

“Oh, _absolutely._  You must be quite proud of yourself,” Deceit said, tapping his fingers against his legs in thought. A plan was beginning to fall into place; he just hoped he had the strength necessary to carry it out. In the meantime, he just had to keep the mouth talking, keep it _comfortable._ “Do Patton and Roman have Guard Mouths in their cells as well?”

The mouth sneered. “I’m not talking about _them,”_  it said. “Besides! I’m not about to give you any _helpful_ information. What do you take me for, an idiot?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Deceit said sympathetically. “You keep your lips sealed, my friend.”

“Done and done!” the mouth said, and a floating needle appeared in a flash of green light and sewed it shut. It laughed through the thread, blood and spittle flying. Deceit forced a laugh, and the mouth’s smile only grew.

He sat back against the wall, tuning out the mouth’s ramble about how good blood tasted. He’d have to bide his time, wait until he had _exactly_  enough information to strike, so no one could see through his deception. If all went according to plan, he could be free within a matter of days.

He just hoped Roman and Patton could survive for that long.


	42. Kill the Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Roman didn’t know how much longer he could survive.

He’d stopped responding to Remus’ antics entirely after his breakdown. No more tears, no more groans, nothing; he wouldn’t give Remus the satisfaction of knowing just how much pain he was in. And Remus, in return, upped the ante. He didn’t take kindly to being _ignored,_  after all.

At first, he seemed to take delight in his little shows, even if Roman didn’t. He brought to life every twisted thought that crossed his sick little mind — juggling the severed heads of all of Roman’s friends, or decorating the room in guts arranged to look like Christmas garland, or making it rain acid and laughing as his skin burned away. Each new performance was twice as sickening as the last.

And with each one, Roman felt himself shatter a little bit more. How much time had he spent in that cell? How much pain had he caused? He’d been so blind, so utterly _stupid,_  to leave on his own. His family was hurting, _dying,_  and he could do nothing to stop it. He couldn’t protect them.

He could only sit and watch and _ache_  as Remus summoned lookalikes of his loved ones to stab and maim and destroy, again and again and again.

And he could only sit and listen as Remus revealed, a little more each time, just how much _he_  was hurting, too. Roman couldn’t help the memories that swam to the front of his mind: the time after the split, the almost-month that they got to spend together, before the world dragged them apart and painted them as enemies.

He stared at Remus’ unhinged grin and tried to catch a glimpse of the gap-toothed smile he’d once known. Was his brother even still in there? Or had the bitterness twisted him inside and out?

It didn’t matter. _It didn’t matter._  There was nothing he could do, nothing he’d ever be able to do again. He’d sit and watch and listen until the aching became too much, until he shattered — and then Remus would take his place as Thomas’ one and only Creativity, and that would be that.

He’d just become a memory. The Prince of Failure, who, for all his bravado, couldn’t protect his family when they needed him most. 

He hung his head, staring emptily at the floor beneath him. Remus, who had been explaining in graphic, gory detail his newest project, trailed off. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing at Roman, and then stood. Darkness began to swirl around his feet.

“Yknow, I think I realized why you look so d _ead_  lately!” Remus said, leaning down to look Roman in the eyes. “You’re bored! I can’t really blame ya, I’d be bored too if I just had to _watch_  all the fun.”

The darkness continued to swirl; like smoke, it rose from the ground where Remus stood and gathered behind him, around him, growing growing _growing,_  and the acrid smell of copper filled the air.

Remus stepped away, and the darkness continued to gather. With a flash of green light, his mace appeared in his hands. “You still like slaying monsters, right? What am I saying, of course you do!”

The darkness rolled — _growled,_  a gaping maw of razor-sharp teeth forming from the shadows, whirring like a garbage disposal. Two beady crimson eyes glowered down at him. Roman stared up, up, _up_  at the beast, suddenly feeling very small.

“Do ya like it?” Remus asked. Several clawed legs erupted from the mass of darkness, _slamming_  into the floor below with such force that it cracked. Roman stood as well as he could, eyes darting from the monster to the beast he’d summoned. He had no weapon; he was tied to the fucking _floor._  How did Remus expect him to slay this thing? “I figured we could fight it off together! Like old times!”

 _Like old times._  Roman almost laughed. “Remus —” he began, but the monster reacted to his voice with a great bellow of its own that shook the walls and sent Roman tumbling to his knees. A massive claw swiped through the air — Roman ducked —

“Whoopsie! Forgot about your ropes.” Remus snapped his fingers and Roman’s ropes vanished, and he rolled on instinct, just barely dodging the claw. It sliced through the air where he’d been, leaving four deep gouges in the wall.

Roman shoved himself to his feet, putting as much distance between himself and the beast as he could. His brain whirred on overdrive; he flicked his wrist and his sword appeared in a shower of sparks, and he nearly dropped it from the pain that raced up and down his arm, his bloodied wrists _burning._

With a wild whoop of joy, Remus swung his mace and bashed the monster to the side. “C’mon, where’s your fighting spirit?” he asked, spinning to beam at Roman. Roman hefted his sword into the air, his eyes narrowing, a furious snarl twisting across his face.

 _“Right here,”_  he growled, and he lunged at his brother with all the fury Remus had caused. Sparks flew as his sword collided with the handle of Remus’ mace, and Remus’ eyes widened. He grinned.

“Ooh, _plot twist,”_  he said with a laugh, darting backwards as the beast slammed a foot between them. Roman sliced through it and the shadows burst around him; the beast howled in pain and Roman lunged.

It was a dance he knew quite well, though one he hadn’t performed with his brother in quite some time. Block, parry, thrust; both threw deadly blows and dodged with ease as the monster rampaged around them, its bellowing roar the backdrop of their battle. Roman survived through adrenaline and adrenaline alone; heart pounding, his body moving beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything but the poisonous desire to slice that awful grin right off his brother’s face. _Damn_  the pain in his arms. _Damn_  the pain in his chest.

 _“I hate you,”_  Roman growled.

Remus cackled, swinging his mace towards Roman’s head. “At least we’ve got something in common!” Roman lifted his sword in the nick of time; pain raced down both arms. “I hate me too, but you don’t see me complaining!”

Roman stepped back, his focus wavering. _What?_  What did that —

No. _No._  “Shut up,” he said, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Shut _up!_  Stop — stop trying to —”

Remus stared at him, the smile slipping from his face — and suddenly he was younger, younger, his face lighter, his eyes freer, a brother, a _friend._  Roman blinked and it was gone, but it _never_  was, not really _(‘we’ll always be together, won’t we?’),_ he’d never be free of his greatest mistake, his greatest enemy _(‘of course! We’re brothers, after all.’),_ his —

His brother glared at him from across a broken battlefield. “Trying to _what?”_  he spat. His knuckles were white; his fingers shook, wrapped around the handle of his mace. _“Trying to what, Roman?”_

Roman dropped his sword — Remus opened his mouth — and the monster, with a great bellow, swept a hand across the battlefield and plunged Roman into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot every time i end a chapter with someone being "plunged into darkness" lmao


	43. Lights Go Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the slightly late update !!!! ive had so many shifts this week (including one Very Eventful one on christmas day) that i've just been,,,, dead, basically 
> 
> but !!!! the holidays are over, my Endless Shifts are done, and i am now free to write !!!! hope you enjoy this chapter, ive been waiting to write this bit since i first decided to include remus

He was floating.

Diaphanous darkness spread around him, floating and shifting like curtains in the wind. Was he dreaming? No, no, that didn’t make any sense. Dreams were _fun,_  and this…

This wasn’t fun. This felt… _new,_  in the absolute worst kind of way; his (?) body buzzed with unfamiliarity and the last lingering dredges of pain. His cheeks were stiff and cold, tear-tracks carved across his soft skin, and his chest _ached,_  as though he had just vomited. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. His body wasn’t his. Something was… _off._

Something was _missing._

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his breath stuttering in his chest. Something was missing — something _important,_  something he needed, he was missing an entire part of himself and he felt wrong wrong _wrong_  without it, he needed —

“Hello?”

His eyes snapped open, and the darkness vanished with a rush of sudden light. He was… on a floor. The room around him rumbled and creaked, sharp cracks splintering through the tall quartz pillars holding up the brilliant stained-glass ceiling. His breath hitched in his throat. This was _his room._  But it… wasn’t? Why was it falling apart?

It was then that he noticed the other figure in the room. A small boy, sniffling and sobbing and shaking, his clothes a tattered pink-green approximation of a king’s outfit. Their eyes met — his were a sharp, terrified green — and he felt something _shift,_  deep inside his chest.

“Who… are you?” They said at the same time, in the same voice, with identical expressions of _confusion-loss-fear-fear-fear_ on their identical faces.

“I am Creativi —”

“I am King Romu —”

They both cut off, their voices breaking, shattering. The other boy’s chest began to heave, and he clutched at his tattered sash with white-knuckled hands. He watched the other and felt tears forming in his own eyes, burning hot as they slipped down his cheeks. Memories began to flash through his head — a broken mirror, a broken King, eyes split red-green-red-green — a flash of pain in his chest, in his head, as though he’d been stabbed, cleaved in two, and then —

And then —

_Oh no._

The other slapped both hands over his mouth, fingernails digging into his cheeks harshly enough to draw blood. “What the _fuck,”_  he whispered, his shaking voice muffled by his hands. “What the — what the _fuck —”_

“We — we —” He couldn’t even speak. He looked down at his own hands, curling them into shaking fists, trailing his gaze along his tattered gray-white sleeve, his shredded red-pink sash, his body, empty empty _empty_  in the worst sort of way. _“Why?”_  he whispered.

“You can’t do this,” the other boy said, seemingly to himself. “Y-You — you can’t — I’m sorry, I’m _sorry,_  you can’t —”

“What are you saying?” he asked. He tried to move, tried to stand, and sharp pain shot through his chest, electricity buzzing down his limbs. The other didn’t even seem to hear him.

“I-I-I didn’t meant to — I don’t want you to — _please —”_  The other was sobbing, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but he couldn’t seem to move. He could barely even seem to _breath._  The other buried his head in his hands and cried. “Y-You can’t leave me again — you — you have to _wake up.”_

Wake up?

“Wake up, Roman, _please,_ I — I’m so _s-sorry —”_

 _Roman?_  Why did that name sound so familiar, so… so _right?_  Why was the other boy so intent on him waking up? His eyes slipped shut, the darkness swirling around his form once more —

And when Roman opened his eyes, he found himself staring up into his brother’s face.

Remus dropped him with a strangled yelp and scrambled away, his eyes wide and his breathing erratic. His cheeks gleamed in the light; were those _tear tracks_  on his face? Had he been _crying?_  

“Re… Remus…?” Roman stirred and pain cleaved through his chest, stealing his breath away. He wheezed, clutching at the tattered remains of his shirt — and then he froze. His chest was bandaged. “Did… did you bandage me?”

Remus laughed. The sound was pitchy and terrified. “No! I thought you were dead!” he said, far too loudly. “I was gonna — gonna eat your corpse! I’ve always wanted to know what rotting flesh would taste like —”

“Remus,” Roman said, and Remus stuttered to a stop. Roman had only ever seen him _this_  scared once before — a little boy in a pink-green outfit flashed through his mind. He trailed his hands along the bandages wrapped around his arms. “What happened?”

Remus shoved himself to his feet and shook his head, hair flopping this way and that. When he stopped, his grin was back, unhinged as ever — but his eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy, and slowly-drying tear tracks still shone on his cheeks. “You let yourself get whacked to pieces by my baby!” he said with a cackle. “I only putcha back together ‘cause I’m not done playing with you yet. I-It’s no fun if you _d-die_  right off the bat!”

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed. Their eyes met — deep crimson-browns searching terrified, trapped greens — and a million, trillion words lived and died on Roman’s tongue. Remus took a step back.

“Do I need a reason?” he asked. “I mean! There’s no rhyme or reason to what I do, right?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Roman snapped, taking a step forward. His chest ached; the pain had nothing to do with his injuries. “You —”

“Nope!” Remus grinned. It didn’t meet his eyes. “That’s my story and I’m _dicking_  to it! Bye!”

Roman jerked forward, hand outstretched, Remus’ name tearing from his throat, but it was too late. Remus vanished into thin air. A heavy sigh fell from Roman’s lips, and his eyebrows furrowed. He ran his hands along his chest — bandaged badly, but carefully nonetheless — and sank to the floor.

He had a lot to think about.


	44. Old Habits Die Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh, guys, i am SO sorry! i havent updated this fic since last DECADE, i know, im so sorry for the wait !!
> 
> :3c
> 
> listen i wont get the chance to make that joke for another ten years i had to do it to em
> 
> any W A Y back to DECEIT

As the Mouth continued to babble, Deceit thought. His plan was risky at best, deadly at worst; if the Mouth saw through his ruse, he’d alert Rage, and Rage would surely discorporate him on the spot. But he had no other choice — every moment he wasted was another moment Roman and Patton spent in danger, and he could not allow that.

But another problem had arisen from that worry, one that wasn’t so easily disregarded: he couldn’t access his old powers. His ability to change shape so easily stemmed from his inability to _care_  about what might happen to those he deceived. The others had to maintain an almost herculean level of effort to stay shifted, but he was able to change skins as easily as he could change clothes. Or, it seemed, he _used_  to be able to.

Now he _cared,_  deeply, painfully, and he loathed every moment of it. Roman and Patton were his closest friends, the only other people in their twisted mindscape who were on his side — and both of them were trapped with three of Deceit’s worst nightmares. He couldn’t help the agonizing twinges of fear that wound through his lungs, burning like embers; nor could he ignore the worry that curled around his brain like a thorny vine, reminding him with each moment that passed that they could be _dead._  He could hardly even _breathe;_  how was he supposed to shift like this?

And yet, in a cruel twist of irony, his newfound care was also his motivation. Without the fear of losing Roman and Patton looming over him, he doubted he’d even be able to gather the strength to talk. He’d stay put, bide his time, wait until he could soften Rage just enough to be set free. That was the only near-guaranteed way to save _himself,_  after all.

But he wasn’t just trying to save himself, not this time. He had a family to save — and to do so, he had to forget all about them, reconnect to the darkness he’d left behind in order to be with them. Oh, how he _loved_  paradoxes.

He took a deep breath, nose wrinkling at the dank scent wafting through the air, and placed his hands in his lap. He reconsidered every bit of information he’d gotten since he’d woken up — namely, that the Mouth couldn’t see, and that it would only open the door if Rage told it to. He didn’t even have to shift fully; he just needed Rage’s vocal chords, needed his voice to sound as though he’d smoked a thousand packs of cigarettes every day for the last 30 years. And he’d have to be able to shift back on a moment’s notice, to convince the Mouth that there were two people in the cell rather than just one.

He closed his eyes, hands curling into fists. He’d done this a million times. He could do it once more. He focused his energy on his vocal chords, and _pushed._

Something in his throat _clicked,_  and his eyes flew open. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk. He swallowed, forcing it to change back, humming as lightly as he could to test the smoothness of his own voice against the roughness of Rage’s.

When he felt confident in his ability to roll from one voice to the next without hesitation, he nodded once to himself, heart pounding against his chest. _Showtime._

 _“Hey!”_  he growled, his mouth pressed into the crook of his arm to muffle his voice, as though he was standing outside the door. “Open the door! I want to speak to the prisoner.”

The mouth stuttered to a stop. “Password, please?”

 _“Excuse me?”_  Deceit said, face contorting with fury as he fell into the role. “I think the fuck _not,_  you trick-ass bitch. Open the fucking _door_  before I break it down!”

The mouth made a small, pained noise. “No need for _that!_  I don’t wanna lose _another_  one of my limbs, that was only fun the first five times. Although! Maybe the sixth time’s the charm? No, no — I really need a password. Them’s the rules!”

“Jesus fucking — Remus said you were supposed to _listen_  to me. Useless piece of shit.”

Tongue running anxiously over its teeth, the mouth whimpered almost imperceptibly. Pride and shame bloomed side-by-side in Deceit’s chest. He stomped the shame down, allowing the pride to fill his lungs, his throat, his head. This was _necessary,_  as… “wrong” as it might have been. The Mouth was nothing but an extension of Remus himself, and though there were a great many things Remus could take, being called _useless_  was not one of them.

He _pushed,_  and his voice became his own once more. “Please don’t open the door,” he hissed, begging, pleading with all his might. He was the very picture of desperation — at least to the Mouth, who couldn’t see the smirk on his face. “Please, I —”

Back to Rage. He let out an inhuman growl. “Don’t tell me you’re going to listen to that fucking _traitor,”_  he said, with all the fury he could muster. He laughed, high and cruel. “You’ve already forgotten what he did, haven’t you? He _left us._  He _left you._  Just like Virgil! Just like _Roman!_  Just like _everyone else in your life.”_

The mouth stammered, then gnashed its teeth, a broken noise building in the back of its throat. “He says he didn’t leave on purpose!” the mouth said suddenly, and Deceit silently slipped off his shoe. “He says Logan —”

With a mighty throw, Deceit sent the shoe _slamming_  into the door. The mouth flinched. “He’s a _liar!”_  Deceit growled, his voice burning from the effort. “That’s his whole fucking _thing!_  God, you’re useless, I should’ve just gotten a fucking lock.”

“No! No no no!” The mouth forced a grin, blood leaking from between its teeth. “I — I dunno what I was _thinkin’_ , asking for a password! I’d know your dulcet tones anywhere, Ragey. N-No need to cause so much stress over this when there are so many funner ways to cause stress! Come on in.”

And the door swung open. Brilliant hope burst to life in Deceit’s chest, and he tapped his foot against the ground several times, mimicking footsteps. He lifted his arm from his mouth, allowing Rage’s voice to come out unfiltered. “Good,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I let Remus keep you weirdos around.”

“Y-Yep! We’re useful in all sorts of ways!” The mouth beamed. Deceit could practically _taste_  how fake the action was. “As guards, as locks — ooh, and I know how to give a _mean_  blow —”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Deceit growled. “Release the chains. Let _slimy_  free.”

“W-What?” he said, switching back to his own vocal chords. Pain flared through his throat; his voice came out broken, barely above a whisper. He had to admit, it added quite well to the effect. “Why?”

“Yeah! Why?” the mouth asked. Deceit switched back and let out a loud groan.

“Why the _fuck_ should I have to tell either of you?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “I don’t owe you _shit.”_

“Y-You’re right,” Deceit said in his own voice, shaking, desperate. “But perhaps I could owe _you_  something? I —”

“Save it, _slimy,”_  he growled. His voice had begun to vanish, red-hot pain dripping down his throat; he could only hope the mouth opened the chains before he lost his ability to speak entirely. “You don’t have anything I want. What the _fuck_  are you just standing there for? Release. The. _Chains.”_

“R-Right! Yeah!” The mouth laughed, bubbling, nervous giggles — and a moment later, the chain around Deceit’s neck released and fell to the ground. Deceit resisted the urge to cry out in relief and slowly, silently pushed himself to his feet.

“Fucking _finally,”_  he growled. “You’re lucky I don’t have Remus _delete_  you just because of how long you took.”

“Yes! I am!” The mouth’s tongue flew this way and that over its jagged teeth. “Thank you —”

“Whatever. Enjoy your solitude, useless.” Deceit slammed the door shut and sagged against it, his heart pounding so powerfully his legs almost gave out beneath him. He allowed his vocal chords to roll back into his own and rasped out a quiet, trembling laugh, ignoring the way his entire throat twinged with pain. He was _free._

He turned and looked down the dark hallway before him, eyes narrowing with determination.


	45. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're coming very close to the year anniversary of when i first started this fic im,,,,,, emotional
> 
> anyway this is the chapter ive been waiting to write since i first introduced remus so !!! enjoy :3c
> 
> also jsuk i am Stopping the song-themed chapter titles thing bc. well. i had a whole playlist planned out for the og storyline and, here we are, nearly 40k past the original storyline's ending and i literally cannot keep finding songs that fit, its way too stressful, so u just get Generic Boring Titles now woop

It was quite a while before Remus decided to return.

Roman spent his time alone pacing the length of his cell like a caged animal, hands fluttering this way and that as he tried, desperately, to rationalize what had just happened. He longed for his sash, to run his fingers along the silky-smooth texture, but it had been torn up by the monster’s claws, and laid in a tattered heap in the corner of the cell. He’d have to give it a proper burial, someday.

So instead he ran his hands along his bandages, and wondered what on earth had prompted Remus to _heal_  him. The battle itself had been predictable, though the insecurities Remus had revealed were a bit less so — and his dream of the moments after the split, that was downright familiar. But waking to find himself in Remus’ lap, his brother crying over his limp body? To find himself bandaged and healed by the person who had gotten him hurt in the first place?

Maybe he was wrong about his brother.

Which, really, was that so surprising? He’d been wrong before. He’d considered Virgil his enemy, Logan his ally; he’d thought, once upon a time, that Deceit could only ever be a villain. Now Virgil was one of his best friends, and Logan, his greatest adversary. And Deceit was — well, he didn’t know how to describe his relationship with Dee, but he knew it wasn’t _bad,_  not anymore.

He’d thought his brother was _happy_  with the Split, that he enjoyed the opportunity to be as gruesome as he wanted, away from the prying eyes of the light sides, away from the crippling self-hatred the unstable King had dealt with.

_“I hate me too, but you don’t see me complaining!”_

Roman shoved a hand through his hair and paced faster, doubt spreading like wildfire through his lungs. Remus had saved his life. As much as they fought, as much as he claimed to hate him, Remus had _cried_  over him, begged him not to die. Roman couldn’t possibly go back to assuming Remus was just an unstable lunatic; there was more to the story, more to _Remus,_  than Roman had ever thought possible.

He let out a sigh and stopped pacing, lowering himself gently to the ground and drawing his knees up to his aching chest. He’d survived, once upon a time, by seeing the world only in black-and-white — casting himself as the brilliant prince, unendingly good, and casting those around him as either _heroes_  or _villains_  without acknowledging the nuances that made them all _real._  Even as Deceit barreled into his life and painted the world in shades of gray, he’d continued to view his brother as a purely _dark_  entity, incapable of goodness.

Now he’d seen a grayer, lighter side of his brother than he’d ever thought possible, and he didn’t know what to think. Did this one moment of almost-humanity mean Remus was capable of change, capable of redemption? Or were his other flaws enough to condemn him? Was it even _fair_  to condemn him for the way he acted, shoved into a role he might have never even wanted?

He dropped his head into his arms. There was only one way to truly figure this out. He had to talk to his brother.

“Remus,” he called out into the empty cell, lifting his head. “We need to talk.”

No response. Roman would have almost felt offended, if he wasn’t so tired. He sighed, lifting his hand, drawing upon as much of his old power as he could reach. “Remus,” he called again, and Remus yelped in surprise as he was suddenly dragged up into the cell, buck naked.

Roman screamed, dropping his head back down into his hands. “Put some clothes on!” he cried, his voice strangled, and Remus cackled.

“You’re the one who summoned me outta nowhere! You really should’ve expected this.” Roman heard a _snap,_  and he lifted his head to find Remus in his usual outfit. “I was tryna see how exactly a human could have sex with a squid.”

Roman pressed his lips into a thin line. “…Lovely,” he managed, feeling faintly sick. “Look. I know you probably want to do this just as much as I want to — which is to say, you don’t even want to think about it — but we need to talk. Can we just… talk? Please?”

 _“’Please?’”_  Remus laughed. “Do you have a concussion? Did that monster give you brain damage? I don’t think you’ve actually _asked_  me to do something for you since — wow, since forever!”

Roman winced. “I’m — I’m sorry,” he said, and Remus pulled a face.

“Oh, you _absolutely_  have brain damage,” he said. “Ooh, lemme grab my scalpel! I can perform emergency brain surgery! Mister Doctor Professor Remus, in the house!”

“No!” Roman said, instinctively pressing back against the wall. “I don’t have brain damage!”

“Are you _sure?”_  Remus asked, setting his hands on his hips with a disappointed pout. “Aw, poop. I haven’t gotten to use my scalpel on a _person_  in _ages.”_

Roman suppressed a shudder and pushed himself to his feet. “I really need to talk to you,” he said, as earnestly as he could manage. “I know our relationship isn’t… the best, at the moment —”

“Uh, understatement much?”

“— and yet, you saved my life,” Roman continued, ignoring Remus’ interruption. “You healed me. Why?”

Remus rolled his eyes, throwing his whole body into the action. “Bitch, _please,”_  he groaned, “we’ve already been over this. I did it on a whim! No rhyme or reason —”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Roman snapped. “I just want to understand you! Do you want me dead or not?”

“I —” Remus stammered wildly, eyes darting this way and that, anywhere but Roman.

“Because, frankly, I’m getting mixed messages here!” Roman threw his hands up in the air. “One minute you’re summoning a monster to kill me, the next you’re _crying_  over me? You don’t _cry_  over someone if you saved them ‘on a whim.’”

“What, are you gonna _interrogate_ me?” Remus asked. “Tie me to a chair, shine a light in my face and slap me silly every time I give you an answer you don’t like? Seriously, are you? Because that sounds sorta fun —”

“Shut up,” Roman snapped on instinct. “I-I mean — _don’t_  shut up! Tell me why you saved my life!”

“Why should I?” Remus asked. “I don’t owe you diddly _squat!”_

Roman ran a hand through his hair, resuming his pacing with a frustrated growl. “Were you just keeping me alive because you weren’t done torturing me? Or was it because you still care about me?”

“Why do you want to know, Roman?” Remus burst out, his eyes narrowed. “How does this make a single butthole of difference?”

“Because!” Roman whirled on his brother. “I need to know if I was wrong about you!”

Remus blinked. “Wh — what?”

“I was wrong about Virgil, and he suffered for _months_  due to the heinous way I treated him, and — and I was wrong about Deceit! He risked _everything_  just to save me, and — and I can’t help but think about all these years that I’ve spent painting _you_  as the villain. I — I need to know why you saved me.”

“I don’t know!” Remus cried. “I don’t know, okay? You’re everything that I _hate!_  So infuriatingly _perfect_  that you’re just — just _accepted!_  Right off the bat! So _good_  and _light_  and _heroic_  that everyone just _loves_  to be around you!”

Roman took a step back. “R-Remus —”

Remus took a great, heaving breath. “Meanwhile, here I am, all the _stinky_  parts that no one wants! That’s why Virgil left! That’s why Dee left! That’s why _you left!_  I should _resent_ you!”

Tears had begun to form in Remus’ eyes, and they spilled onto his cheeks in great rivers, snot dripping to the floor. Roman watched, stricken silent, great waves of regret drowning his words, seeping down his throat to choke him. “I _do_  resent you! You left me behind to go be _sparkly_ and — and _loved_  and I got to _rot!_  And not the fun kind of rotting! So, yeah, I don’t know why I fucking saved you, okay? I just couldn’t — I didn’t want to lose — I — _fuck —”_

Roman watched as Remus’ tirade broke off, as he dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed at his eyes so hard he’d surely draw blood. Hot shame burned through Roman’s chest and he longed for _something_  to say, something to stop the flood of tears rolling down his brother’s face. How had he let this happen? How had he been so _blind_  to Remus’ suffering, his loneliness, his insecurities? Roman had suffered the same pain; he should have been there to _support_  Remus, not worsen his strife. A thousand regrets swirled in his head and he grit his teeth, his chest aching.

“Fuck — s-shit —” Remus growled, scrubbing at his face. “Uh! Jalapeno condoms! Underwear made of eyelashes! U-Uh —”

If there was one thing Roman had learned over the past months, it was that nothing could truly keep a person from changing. Even a less-than-ideal past couldn’t hinder a person set on self-improvement forever. He looked across the dungeon at his greatest enemy — at his _brother,_  his other half, and vowed in that moment to _change_.

He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled Remus into his arms. Remus tensed up, his broken ramble coming to a crashing stop, his breath hitching sharply in his throat. “I _was_  wrong,” Roman said, his voice low and soft. “I’m so _sorry,_  Remus.”

And Remus broke.

He sagged into Roman’s arms and sobbed into his shoulder, his hands clutching the fabric of Roman’s shirt so tightly Roman was surprised it didn’t tear. Roman held him right back, hot tears slipping down his own cheeks as the two of them sank to the floor. Furious embers danced in his stomach; he’d never forgive himself for how long he’d left his brother alone. But even as his anger burned, cold _relief_  washed right over it, a gentle breeze through his chest. For the first time in years, he felt _whole._

Remus’ sobs stuttered off into hiccups, and then sniffles. He pulled away and swiped away his tears with a shaking hand. “N-No wonder Virgil and Deceit left me for you,” he said with a tiny laugh. “You’ve got, like, some kind of _emotional mind-control_  bullshit.”

“It’s called ‘being nice,’ Remus,” Roman said, sitting back and swiping at his own eyes. Remus pulled a disgusted face.

“Gross,” he said, sticking out his tongue. Roman let out a breathy laugh and Remus’ eyes lit up. “Seriously! I _know_  gross. _Emotional mind-control bullshit_  sounds so much _cooler.”_

“Does everything with you have to involve feces?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow. Remus laughed.

“Bitch, do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Right, of course.” He sighed. “Just so you know, Deceit didn’t leave. Logan kicked him out.”

“He — what?” Remus shook his head wildly. “No no no, that’s not right. Rage said Deceit _left_. _”_

Roman leaned his back up against the wall, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He was so _tired._  “I hate to break it to you, bro, Rage isn’t exactly the most _trustworthy_  side in the mindscape.” He drew his knees up to his chest and watched as Remus scooted back up against the wall roughly five feet away from Roman, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah, I-I know,” Remus said, dropping his face into his arms. “He said he could help me get revenge, and I jumped at the chance, yknow? You _know_  I’m always horny for revenge. I just — I guess I’m so used to being abandoned that I assumed he was telling the truth!” He laughed, glancing over at Roman as though he’d told some hilarious joke.

Roman didn’t laugh. His heart dropped down into his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Eh, quit it with the _‘sorry’s._  There are so many more _fun_  things you could do with your mouth than apologizing.” He dropped his head back down into his arms. “So Dee didn’t leave? For reals?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Roman said. “He was always talking about this place. All he ever really wanted was to come home, but Logan and Rage locked him out. Patton got him back in, but now — they’re both — they’ve both been captured anyway, so —”

Remus waved his hand through the air without even looking up, and the cell door opened with a _whoosh._  Roman’s eyes widened, hope blossoming in his chest. “…Remus?”

“Go rescue them,” he said, his voice more serious than Roman had ever heard before. “They don’t deserve to be trapped here. Neither do you.”

“Alright,” Roman said, pushing himself to his feet. “Come on, then.”

“Huh?” Remus looked up as Roman held out a hand towards him, an uncertain smile on his face.

“I-I’m not leaving you behind again,” he said. “I once promised you that we’d be together forever. I haven’t been the best at keeping that promise as of late, but… on my honor as a prince, I swear that I will keep it from this point forward.”

Remus gaped. “But — you —” He stammered wildly, his eyes wide. “You realize that means you’re _stuck_  with me, right? Are you absolutely _sure_  you didn’t get a concussion, I can still get my scalpel if you want —”

“Remus,” Roman said firmly. “I’m not leaving here without you.”

"B-But what about the others? They're not gonna be, yknow,  _thrilled_ to see me," Remus said, tugging at his sash nervously. 

"I've made the decision to trust you," Roman said, "and I'm sure they can, too. You'll see. Acceptance is sort of our  _thing_ now."

"I — you're sure?" Roman nodded, and Remus hesitated, searching his face — and then he took Roman’s hand, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “There. Now you’re really stuck with me.”

“Good.” Roman squeezed Remus’ hand and turned towards the open doorway. “Let’s get out of here.”


	46. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from this point forward, remus is going to be a main character! that means every chapter will have a Remus Content Warning™, which includes everything from sexual innuendos to straight-up gore. i'll put more specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter so you know what to expect!
> 
> for example, for this one, theres a hint of gore towards the end
> 
> anyway! enjoy!

Deceit followed the twisting hallways, eyes narrowed against the darkness, shoulders tensed as he listened for any hint of noise, anything to suggest that someone was coming his way. Caution dogged his every step. He pressed his ear up against every door he passed, listening for a sign that Roman was inside.

Obviously, he had yet to have any luck. Every door he passed was silent, depressingly so; the only noise in the entire building, it seemed, was his own ragged breathing. He couldn’t even call out to Roman — his voice had decided to abandon him, leaving him silent and pained. The most he could produce was a rasping, strangled noise.

But that was _fine._  He didn’t need to be able to speak to find Roman and Patton. As long as he didn’t run into another situation that he had to talk his way out of, he’d be _fine._

Forget the fact that he hated being silenced almost as much as he loved silencing others. That didn’t matter in the slightest.

He turned a corner, and found himself back in the hallway he’d been in when Rage had captured him. One of the many doors lining the hallway was open, cold light spilling from inside. Deceit raised an eyebrow and stepped towards it, peering inside.

Empty. Disappointment tinged the fear in his chest a deep, disheartening blue, and he moved to turn away — but then something caught his eye. He froze, his breath hitching in his throat. There was a lump of shiny crimson in the corner of the dingy cell.

Shaking his head, he stepped inside, dread forcing his hands to tremble as he approached the lump of fabric. He picked it up, running it through his fingers, the silky-smooth texture almost bringing comfort in its familiarity. It was tattered and torn, the crimson stained dark with —

With _blood._

Deceit’s legs gave out and he stumbled to the floor, freezing terror flooding his veins. There was _blood_  on Roman’s sash. His sash, which he never left out of his sight, which he wore at all times if only for the comfort it brought. If the sash was here, torn and bloodied — _where was Roman?_

 _He’s fine,_  his brain told him, as he curled over the sash, a great sob breaking in his chest. _There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. He’s fine. He’s alive._

It was a shame he could never believe his own lies.

His hands grasped so tightly at the fabric they began to ache as scalding floods of tears carved their way down his cheeks. He rasped, unable to even cry out, unable to do _anything._  Roman was gone. Roman was _gone,_  and in his absence Deceit felt as though he would prefer to die too, anything to escape the agony shattering through his lungs. How much more pain would he have to endure, before the world righted itself? How much more could he possibly lose?

 _You could lose Patton,_  his brain pointed out, _or Virgil, again. You could lose Thomas. You could lose yourself._

He allowed one more sob to heave through his chest — allowed himself to dwell for one moment longer on the warmth he’d lost, Roman’s smile, his eyes, the way he’d looked at Deceit as though he truly, truly _cared_  — and then forced himself to stand, to wipe the tears from his face. He curled the sash around his neck like a scarf and curled his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his palms sharply enough to draw blood.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, to the sash, to the empty room, to Roman’s memory as it swirled around him. Then he turned and left, his fists shaking by his sides. The hallway outside was just as silent as before — but now the silence hurt twice as badly, felt twice as sharp against his skin. He took a deep, trembling breath, and —

“He must have tricked my mouth!” a sudden voice said, echoing around the corner. Terror shot like lightning through Deceit’s veins and he darted back into the cell, sinking into the shadows. “Don’t look at me, you _know_  he’s a slimy bastard just as well as I do! Did you really think he wouldn’t try to escape?”  
Remus. _Wonderful._  It seemed they’d discovered his little trick. Who was he talking to, though?

“I know,” said a soft voice, neither Logan nor Rage. Deceit’s heart skipped a thousand beats. “I don’t know how I didn’t expect this. Is there any way you can find him?”

It was a trick. It was a _trick._  They were luring him out, using _his_  voice to trap him all over again. He clutched at the sash like a lifeline, gritting his teeth so tightly he almost worried they’d break.

“If any of my babies see him, I’ll know!” Remus said. Two shadows stretched across the floor outside the cell; they must have turned the corner. “We just gotta wait til he slips up —”

“He’s far too clever for that,” the other voice said with a sigh. “He’ll find some way to avoid them! He could be anywhere.”

The two figures passed the doorway, and Deceit’s heart leapt into his throat. Being the mindscape’s resident master of disguise meant he could easily see through _others’_  disguises as well, and —

A strangled cry ripped its way out of his throat as he rushed out of the cell, his self-restraint vanishing in the face of _Roman, his_  Roman, alive and well and _right there_  — and he tackled him so forcefully the two almost went tumbling to the ground, tears springing to life in his eyes. Remus screamed, and Deceit saw the telltale flash of his mourning-star appearing in his hands, but he didn’t, _couldn’t_  care.

“Wh — Deceit?” Roman’s voice broke, and suddenly he was clutching at Deceit just as tightly as Deceit clutched at him, his fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, a sob shattering in his chest.

“You’re alive,” Deceit rasped. He could barely even see through the deluge of tears flooding down his face, and his chest _ached_  with the force of his sobs. “You’re alive, I — I thought you were — I —”

“I’m alive,” Roman promised, holding him close. “We’re alive. I — I’m so sorry, this was all my —”

“Don’t you _dare_  apologize,” Deceit hissed, drawing away to look Roman in the eyes. He took quick stock of his appearance: the bruises across his face, the pain in his eyes, swirled with happiness and desperation and something far too soft to name. His gaze locked on Roman’s lips.

“Dee, I —”

Deceit pushed their lips together, cutting off Roman’s apology before it could even leave his mouth. _Warmth_  burned through every inch of his body — fire spreading from their connected lips all the way down into his chest, where roses bloomed along the thorns laced through his lungs. He stretched up on his tiptoes and tangled his hands through Roman’s hair as Roman leaned down to meet him, his grip around his middle tightening, tightening, _tightening —_

“Um, _gross_  much?”

Roman pulled away from him with a shaking gasp, his cheeks burning a deeper red than his sash. Deceit stepped back, lifting his fingers to his tingling lips, his eyes wide. He just did that. So much for hiding his feelings.

He found he didn’t mind the loss of secrecy in the slightest.

“You’re calling _us_  gross?” Roman asked, whirling on his brother as soon as he regained the ability to speak. “Ha! Talk about throwing stones in glass houses.”

“Ooh, I’ve actually tried that! It’s _really_  painful,” Remus said with a grin. “And, uh, yeah? I’m calling you _gross._  All _sappy_  and _tearful —”_

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Apologies for interrupting this… scintillating conversation,” he whispered, “but what, exactly, are _you_  doing here?”

“Aw, c’mon! Aren’t you happy to see me, Deedee?” Remus asked, leaning over the handle of his mourning-star to lightly tap a finger to Deceit’s nose. Deceit stepped back, his nose scrunching up.

“Remus and I have come to a… truce of sorts,” Roman said, his face still bright tomato-red. “He’s on our side now.”

“Yep! I had a change of heart!” Remus shoved his hand through his chest and pulled out his still-beating heart, sending blood spurting everywhere. The heart had a little smiley-face drawn on it in Sharpie. “See?”

Deceit pressed his lips into a thin line. “Lovely,” he managed, feeling faintly queasy. Remus laughed, and with a snap of his fingers, the blood on the walls vanished and his heart returned to his chest.

“Alright, my turn to ask questions!” Remus said. “What the fuck’s up with your voice? You sound like you deepthroated a chainsaw — which is also something I’ve tried, by the way.”

“I impersonated Rage to escape my cell,” Deceit said, wincing as his throat twinged. “As you can see, stealing his _lovely_  voice left _no_  unfortunate side-effects whatsoever.”

Roman winced sympathetically. “At least you escaped.”

“Yes,” Deceit said. He hesitated, glancing over at Remus. Biting his lip, he sighed. “Remus, your Mouth revealed some… interesting information to me.”

Remus tilted his head to the side, hair flopping down in his face.

“Rage told you that I… left, correct?”

“Oh!” Remus rolled his eyes, throwing his whole body into the action. “No worries, double-dick! Ro n’ I’ve already been over this.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Still. I-I would like to say — that is, I want you to know —” He cut off, tapping his fingers against his thighs, his tongue slipping out as he fought to find the right words. God, he really _had_  gone soft. “I wouldn’t leave,” he said finally, trying to put every ounce of truth as he could into his words. “I know you have _such_  an _easy_  time dealing with abandonment. I would never purposefully make that worse for you. You… you _are_  my friend, after all.”

Roman watched him, pride blooming in his eyes. Deceit shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, forcing himself to look at Remus and _only_  Remus.

Remus blinked rapidly. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth hanging open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. Deceit opened his mouth to say more — but a mass of warmth cut him off, strong, shaking arms wrapping around him so tightly he wheezed in pain. The hug was over barely a moment after it started; Remus darted away, his eyes shining.

“I —” Deceit cleared his throat. “You smell terrible.”

Remus sniffled. _“Thank you.”_

“That was so pure,” Roman whispered, his hand held gently over his mouth. He began to laugh as Remus groaned and Deceit hissed, both turning away from him with their arms crossed.

“Whatever,” Deceit said, squaring his shoulders and forcing himself to sneer to hide the happiness in his eyes. “We’re together again. We need to find Patton and get the hell out of here.”

“Right,” Roman said, stepping up beside him. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I do, I do!” Remus cried, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Judging by the expression on his face, he wasn’t actually excited at all, just overwhelmed. With Roman and Deceit’s searching gazes on him, he twisted his hands together. “He’s with Rage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


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